Not Bored Now, Are you?
by RemyDico5
Summary: Sherlock's frustration with not being able to catch or find Moriarty leads to a physical relationship with John that changes their relationship and everything it entails
1. Chapter 1

It seemed as though Moriarty had disappeared off the face of the Earth. It had been months and not even a whisper of the consulting criminal had been heard. As each week, each month passed Sherlock grew restless. John could sense his tension whenever they were in the room together.

Sherlock hardly slept. Instead he took to long hours on the computer, searching for any sign of Moriarty. Most people would just be glad to have gotten out of the pool alive, but Sherlock wasn't most people. Instead he fixated on the fact that Moriarty had survived as well as was still out there "in the big bad world."

John understood the need to find Moriarty. The man was dangerous. At any point he might decide to come after Sherlock and John again. They would all be safer if Moriarty was in prison or better yet dead. But since Moriarty seemed to have taken great care to fall off the radar, John was hesitant to believe they would find even the slightest trace of him. Men like that were very good at not being found if they didn't want to be.

The wall had taken a great number of beatings from Sherlock over those months. He no longer used it as an outlet for his boredom, instead as a way to cope with his frustration. John had finally had to hide his gun where he knew Sherlock couldn't find it (under the floorboards in his bedroom. It had been quite a chore prying them up and he had been careful to do it when Sherlock was out of the house. He knew however that Sherlock could find the gun if he really wanted to. Not much was easily hidden from Sherlock Holmes)

Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, well not exactly sitting, more like crouching. His palms pressed together under his chin, his usual look when he was thinking. John placed one of the cups of tea he had just made and set it down by Sherlock before sitting in his usual seat across from him. Sherlock's fingers twitched a little but he made no mention of John's presence or the cuppa. This was to be expected although John couldn't help thinking that a 'thank you' would be nice. Then again manners were not high on Sherlock's list of priorities.

"There must be something." Sherlock growled quietly but loud enough for John to hear him. This was just some more of John filling in for Sherlock's missing skull. Not that John really minded, it was always fascinating to watch Sherlock's brain work.

"Sherlock, you've looked everywhere. There's no sign of him. I imagine there won't be until he wants us to." John grimaced, knowing what the uncertainty was doing to his friend. Friend, an odd term for their relationship. Sometimes it felt like what they did together was so much more than friendship. John often feared that this was and would always be the most important relationship in his life. How was he supposed to find someone to love when he was, for intensive purposes, attached to Sherlock Holmes?

Sherlock could be strangely possessive when he wanted to be. For instance when he tagged along to John's date or the way he pouted when other things besides Sherlock and his work occupied John's time. John would never tell Sherlock this, but he would rather be focusing on cases as well. Sitting in a clinic for eight hours was unbelievably boring compared to the times he spent with Sherlock chasing murderers and thieves around London. He equated it to how Batman must feel during the day when he's forced to be Bruce Wayne. Although out of the two of them, if anyone was Batman, it would be Sherlock. John frowned at the prospect of him being Robin in this scenario.

"John, will you please stop?" Sherlock yelled, catching John off guard.

"What?" he asked wondering what he could have possibly done.

"I can't concentrate with you over there, your mind racing. It's very distracting."

"Sorry." John said sheepishly. "I'll get out of your hair."

John stood and went into the kitchen, he finished the rest of his tea in one gulp and set it in the sink to wash later. He was about to head upstairs when Sherlock called out his name. John reluctantly returned to the livingroom to see what his flatmate wanted.

"I'll require the use of your gun." Sherlock said calmly. It was a ruse. The calm before the storm.

"Sherlock, no." John said shaking his head. "The wall won't be able to stand another round with you."

"It will be fine." Sherlock waved it off. Just another addiction. Sherlock, the addict. John had been shocked when he first found out. Now it made so much sense.

"No it won't and it doesn't matter because I've gotten rid of it." John lied through his teeth.

"You're a terrible liar John Watson, although you have stashed it somewhere." Sherlock said observing him. John shifted uncomfortably. "Somewhere you don't think I'll find it. I must warn you that I am up to the challenge."

"I would warn you about going through my things—"

"It would be a waste of time."

"I figured." John said with a sigh. "Still I'm not enabling you."

John turned and started up the stairs to his room, not sure what he was planning on doing once he was there. Sherlock would have undoubtedly moved his laptop yet again so he couldn't count on it being in his room.

"John, please." Sherlock pleaded, following John up the stairs.

"Sherlock, you have to stop this." John said rounding on him. "Call Lestrade, see if he's got any cases."

"I already have. Nothing remotely interesting."

"There's got to be something better for you to do than shoot the wall." John insisted.

"For instance…?" Sherlock asked, his eyes wide waiting for John to answer.

"I don't know." John shrugged slightly. "Watch telly. Update your website. Or God forbid do the shopping."

"Dull." Sherlock said making a face.

"Then play your violin. I'm sure the world's only Consulting Detective can think of something better to do with his time than obsess over Moriarty or shoot up the wall." John said in exasperation.

John's gaze met Sherlock's and for a moment they just stared at each other. Sherlock's face tentatively moved towards John and John found himself unable to move or comprehend what was about to happen. Sherlock's hands shot up out of nowhere and grasped either side of John's face. Sherlock's lips smashed against John's and he knew Sherlock was pouring all his frustration into this kiss.

The Consulting Detective's body pressed against the Army Doctors as Sherlock roughly pushed John against the wall. Sherlock's tongue darted out and parted John's lips, deepening the kiss. The height difference was awkward, with Sherlock bending down and John standing on his tiptoes. This whole thing was taking awhile the register in John's brain.

The whole thing was so odd. Not just because he was kissing Sherlock (which was an oddly human behavior for the high-functioning sociopath) but because he had never kissed another man before. He'd never really taken time to assess his sexuality. He'd always been attracted to girls so that was whom he went after. He didn't think of himself as bisexual, gay or whatever label you waned to put on it. Truth be told, he wasn't attracted to men. He was attracted to a man. This man.

Sherlock, with his fascinating brain, his slim body, dark hair and impossible cheekbones. John had always been somewhat enthralled by his flatmate. He'd never really thought about actually physically acting on his attraction to Sherlock. He wasn't even sure that was what it was until the moment Sherlock kissed him. But every once in awhile, when they locked eyes and stared at each other for a long time, John would feel this strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd always had a sneaking suspicion that it was longing. Now he knew for sure that it was.

"John, either stop thinking or share." Sherlock growled with irritation, pulling away from their kiss.

"Sorry." John grumbled before attempting to get his breath back. "It's just a lot to process."

"Are you surprised by my actions or my interest?" Sherlock asked

"Both actually." John admitted. "I thought you said you were married to your work."

"Well since my work has been pretty bear as of late…"

"So I'm what?" John asked smiling bemusedly. "Your mistress?"

"If you'd like to think of it that way, you can." Sherlock said noncommittally.

Wordlessly, John took Sherlock's hand and led him the rest of the way to his bedroom. Sherlock sat on John's bed and John gently eased himself on top of Sherlock, straddling him. This helped with the height difference immensely. Their lips met again, more tender this time. John's lips trailed down finding Sherlock's chin, adam's apple and finally his neck.

That neck, so long and perfect, often covered up by a scarf. That should be a crime in and of itself. John could hear Sherlock panting in his ear and it made his own breath become more staggered. John brings his lips back to meet Sherlock's. He wants to taste him, to explore.

John's surprised when Sherlock's hand descends down to John's pants. He undoes the button and the zipper quickly before reaching down to stroke John's cock. Sherlock does it with precision, as if he's applying resin to his violin bow, from base to tip. John moans into Sherlock's mouth, feeling Sherlock hardening beneath him.

Sherlock's thumb circles the head of John's penis. "Oh Fuck. Sherlock. Fuck." John said so overcome with pleasure. He still couldn't believe this was actually happening, but while it was, he was going to enjoy every bit of it. He wanted to know everything, to touch every bit of him and for Sherlock to do the same.

Sherlock unexpectedly gets up, causing John to stand as well. If he didn't have such fast reflexes, he might have fallen to the floor. Sherlock spins him so they've switched places and gently presses down on John's shoulders. It's similar to how he's always been when they've touched in the past, guiding but not forceful. John obliges and sits down on the bed.

He watches as Sherlock drops to his knees next to the bed and releases John from the rest of his pants and underwear. They fall to his ankles and Sherlock pulls them off completely. Sherlock puts his hands on John's thighs and spreads them apart just a bit. He takes just the head into his mouth and slowly makes his way up until all of John is in him. Sherlock is methodical, like getting sucked off by someone who read about it in a step by step manual (which is not entirely impossible considering it's Sherlock, after all he likes research). Except every once in awhile he'd throw a curve ball like reaching up to fondle John's balls or his tongue darting out to lick the tip. It's the things like that that cause John to yell out "Oh God."

Sherlock had gotten an amazing rhythm down and John was so close to coming. He could see Sherlock making mental notes of what John liked and what he didn't. He had reached forward and tangled one of his hands in Sherlock's curls with the other had grabbed the bed frame to steady himself. He was gripping it so tightly, his knuckles were white. _No, it's too soon, _he thinks looking down at Sherlock and at that moment Sherlock met his gaze. With that, it was all over. A scream of ecstasy ripped from John's throat as he came down Sherlock's.

John flopped down onto the bed exhausted. He rubbed his eyes and then ran his fingers through his hair. He wanted to say something to Sherlock but had no idea what one would even start to say in this situation. Then it dawns on him that he hardly touched Sherlock, that he might want some taking care of as well.

"Sherlock, did you want me too…" he trailed off too embarrassed to finish. He knew he was blushing a deep red.

"That won't be necessary." Sherlock said aloof.

"Are you sure?" John asked confused. "I don't mind."

"I've already, well, these pants are probably ruined now." John never thought he would see Sherlock Holmes looking self-conscious. It was somewhat endearing. Sherlock was looking more and more like a human being by the second. John couldn't help smiling and when Sherlock returned the smile they both began laughing.

John reached forward and grabbed Sherlock by one of his belt loops, pulling him closer. "Next time, I promise I'll make sure you're taken care of." John offered as he kissed Sherlock. It was becoming so natural so quickly. Kissing Sherlock, liked they'd been doing it for years. Maybe it was just born from the closeness they'd already shared.

Sherlock didn't respond except with returning the kisses. John couldn't even fathom what a brain like Sherlock's would be thinking at a time like this. Instead he enjoyed having Sherlock's full attention before something else dragged him away. He doesn't regret it, but he was hesitant. If there was a point of no return, they were way past it.

E


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock got a case, one that could hold his interest. He became aloof towards John, often times ignoring him completely. He knew he shouldn't let it bother him but it did. They didn't talk about what happened. John figured Sherlock was too embarrassed to and John wasn't going to press the matter. He'd rather things go back to the way they were then bring it up and drive them apart.

The problem was John found himself staring at Sherlock's mouth all the time for extended periods of time. It can't have escaped Sherlock's attention since he noticed everything. But if he had caught John in the act, he wasn't saying anything. But every time he even looked at those heart-shaped lips, he gets hypnotized. They're so full and perfect and all he can think about is sucking and biting them until they are swollen and red.

John had also been masturbating more than he did as a teenager. It was getting out of control to the point where he couldn't fall asleep until he'd had a good wank over Sherlock. He'd finally pass out disgusted with himself and feeling lonelier than he'd ever felt in his life.

He often wished Sherlock had never kissed him. It had been so intimate, so human compared to everything else Sherlock did. It was enough to let John fool himself into believing Sherlock could actually feel that way about someone. It would have been nice if Sherlock had mentioned it was only going to be a one time thing. John felt stupid for making promises about the next time. He should have realized there wouldn't be one.

John was sitting the current case out, feigning a lot of work to do for his clinic job. Most days he'd stay there longer than he had to, not wanting to come home to a distant Sherlock. When he usually gave up and resigned himself to another night knocking one out, Sherlock was never there. Obviously the case was getting interesting to keep Sherlock out so late. It peaked John's interest but he didn't dare ask.

John was sitting in the kitchen, sipping some tea before planning on going into his room and locking the door to do his business. Sherlock came bounding up the steps his usual gaunt and pale face was flushed and there was a large smile, such a strange sight on Sherlock, adorning his face. That could only mean one thing. "You've solved the case then?" John asked even though he was sure of the answer.

"I have indeed John." Sherlock clapped his hands together excitedly and John knew Sherlock was gearing up to tell him the whole story. John couldn't help being a little childish and denying him that satisfaction.

"Well I'd better be off to bed." John said taking his tea with him. Sherlock's mouth opened as if he was about to say something but then closed again. John didn't slam his door, but he wanted to. Maybe then Sherlock will get the hint.

John changed into his least favorite pajamas, knowing he'd probably ruin them. If it weren't so cold he would just sleep nude, it would make thing so much easier. He was just about to get started when there was a knock on the door.

"John, can I come in?" Sherlock asked through the door. John couldn't help thinking this is suspiciously polite for Sherlock. Maybe he had gotten the hint without John's theatrical door slam.

"I suppose."

Sherlock slowly opened the door and stood in the door frame, as if he was unsure about stepping fully into the room. The giddiness and rosy cheeks are gone and Sherlock just stood there looking solemn. "John, I get the feeling that I've upset you and yet I'm at a loss."

"I'm not upset." Even John heard how unconvincing he sounded. "I'm not." He tried again, a little better that time.

"John, I would prefer that you be honest with me." Sherlock said taking a tentative step into the room and closer to John.

"I'm really not upset Sherlock." John said trying once again to be convincing. God how he wanted to tell Sherlock everything. To yell at him for being such an idiot. But the last thing he wanted was to dig himself a deeper hole. At this point he could still come out of this with a small shred of dignity. Confessing things to Sherlock would diminish that small bit he had left. So he lied. "I'm just tired and irritated from the long hours at the clinic."

"Yes, it seems you've been staying there longer and longer each night." John can't help being a little excited that Sherlock noticed. _Oh God, I'm turning into a school girl with a crush _John groaned internally.

"Sherlock, I'm very tired. Do you think we could finish this in the morning?" he asked hoping Sherlock wouldn't protest.

"Of course." Sherlock nodded.

John flipped over onto his side and winced when he heard the door close. In spite of himself, he wanted more of a fight from Sherlock than that. The saying "The lady doth protest too much" danced into his brain and he couldn't help thinking that his lady didn't protest at all. It was hard reality, finding out someone you thought cared didn't at all.

Suddenly the mattress creaked just a bit and John felt someone's arms around him. "What the hell are you doing?" John asked wiggling out of Sherlock's embrace and turning to face him.

"Isn't this what you want John?" Sherlock asked looking confused.

"I-I-I-" John stammered.

"Or is this what you want?" Sherlock moved so his lips could meet his. Sherlock shifted so he was straddling him and then began kissing down his throat. John leaned his head back and prayed this wasn't a dream.

"Oh God yes." John said finally answering Sherlock's question. His voice was hoarse.

"I've seen you staring." Sherlock whispered., his tongue trailing across John's adam's apple. "You really shouldn't be so obvious when we're in front of others."

"I'll keep that in mind." John replied barely able to concentrate on what Sherlock had said.

"What is it you want from me John?" Sherlock asked, his fingers slipping under John's shirt and in one quick movement pulling it over his head.

"I don't know." He answered honestly. Sherlock kissed his collarbone.

"Sex?" Sherlock assumed biting down on John's shoulder a bit harder than was necessary. John couldn't help but like it anyways.

"Yes." John breathed, the words barely escaping his lips.

"A relationship?" he said as if it was the most ridiculous word he'd ever heard.

"Is that such a strange concept for you?" John asked bringing Sherlock's face back to his to kiss him again.

"Yes."

John's hands fumbled as his fingers attempted to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. He slipped it off finally to reveal the man's pale and painfully skinny torso. His hands caressed down Sherlock's lean chest and finally settled at his pants. John impatiently tore them open and felt Sherlock for the first time. There was a sharp intake of breath on Sherlock's part as John stroked him.

He couldn't help wondering how experienced Sherlock was. After all the man hardly bothered with food or sleep. John doubted his flatmate held a high regard for pleasure or sexual gratification. He wanted to ask but was worried it would kill the mood. He assumed Sherlock knew exactly how many times John had had sex and with whom. It was how Sherlock's brain worked. John assumed there would be evidence of his sexual past all over his body that Sherlock would deduce. The way Sherlock's eyes studied every inch of his body after ridding themselves of the rest of their clothes, John was sure his body told Sherlock more than he wanted it to.

Sherlock reached up and gently ran his finger over John's shoulder scar. He met John's gaze for a moment and then pressed his lips against the old wound. It was an odd gesture, much more caring and tender than Sherlock usually was. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and pulled his face to his, sucking on Sherlock's lower lip just as he imagined.

"John." Sherlock moaned. "I can't wait any longer."

John swallowed the lump in his throat, suddenly very nervous. It would be his first time having sex with a man. But no, that wasn't what was important. What was important was that it would be his first time having sex with Sherlock. His anxiety turned to need and want, to pure lust.

John stuck three fingers into his mouth and began sucking. Sherlock looked equal parts confused and turned on. John moved him closer so he could slowly insert- one by one- his fingers into Sherlock's arse. Sherlock's eyes opened wide and John bit his lip to suppress a laugh. If Sherlock had done this before, it must have been vastly different.

When John was satisfied that Sherlock was ready, he pulled his fingers out and reached into his bedside table drawer for the lube. With the amount of wanking he'd done lately, it had been a smart purchase, even more so now. "Allow me." Sherlock said taking it from him. He squeezed it into his palm, rubbed his hands together and then began applying it to John's cock.

"Shit." John said grabbing the sheets with both fists. The way Sherlock was touching him, the way he concentrated on the task. It would be very embarrassing if John were to cum now. He forced himself to think about anything else, unable to look at Sherlock, he stared at the ceiling.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked.

John could only shake his head and grunt in response. When he was satisfied, Sherlock grabbed the headboard of the bed and used it to slowly lower himself onto John's cock. He used the headboard as leverage to pull himself up and down, his eyes never leaving John's as he did so. John began jerking his hips up the meet Sherlock with thrusts of his own.

"John." Sherlock croaked out. "I'd like you to touch me."

He nodded and wrapped his hand around Sherlock's penis. He hardly had to move his hand at all, their gyrating already making his hand slide up and down the shaft. Every once in a while he'd gently squeeze or move his hand down to play with Sherlock's testicles.

Sherlock had broken their gaze and had his eyes closed. "Are you alright?" John asked worried.

"Simply trying to make it last." Sherlock replied, his eyes still closed and a small smile playing on his lips.

Their bodies were both dripping with sweat and their breathing was loud and erratic. John propped himself up on his elbows so he could reach his lips to find Sherlock's, their mouths careful to adjust to the movements the rest of their bodies were making. Every time Sherlock jerked up, his tongue plunged deeper into John's mouth. John finally had to break the kiss or he would pass out from lack of air.

John could feel he was close and begged his body to hold on just a bit longer. He wanted this to last as long as possible. They were moving so fast and the friction felt incredible. Sherlock was moaning loudly, making it nearly impossible for John to keep himself from exploding. With his free hand, he shoved two fingers into Sherlock's mouth, hoping it might keep him quiet. If there was a next time, he'd consider a gag. Sherlock began sucking John's fingers, making John lose all his concentration. Then Sherlock came, a powerful orgasm rippling through his body, and the way he said John's name made it impossible to stop himself from doing the same.

Sherlock collapsed next to John on the bed. He reached over and grabbed a few tissues from the bedside table and handed them to John. "You should probably clean yourself up." Sherlock said as if John had some food in the corner of his mouth and not cum on his chest and hand.

John sighed and took the tissues, moping it up. He should have known having sex with Sherlock wouldn't be like having sex with a woman. There would be no holding each other and declarations of love. There was just this.

"I'm going to take a shower." John announced.

"Very well." Sherlock said pulling the covers over himself. "I'm quite tired, I'll think I'll just sleep."

John was surprised Sherlock planned to sleep in his bed. It was so normal but then again maybe Sherlock was too lazy to walk downstairs and get into his own bed. John decided not to question it too much and got into the shower. The whole thing was daunting and strange. He had just had sex with his flatmate. A man who was, as far as he could tell, his best friend.

Sherlock had asked him what he wanted and he honestly didn't know the answer. Did he want a relationship? To tell people Sherlock was his boyfriend? He wanted to keep having sex, he knew that much. He also wanted Sherlock to himself, not that he worried much about someone else coming into the picture. Even though Sherlock was a gorgeous man, most people were put off by his manners and his personality, the fools. As far as John could tell, his biggest competition came from Molly Hooper and that really wasn't a competition at all.

But the idea of having Sherlock as his boyfriend was too absurd to think about. He couldn't imagine the two of them holding hands down the street or snogging at the cinema. Anyone who thought Sherlock was capable of that sort of thing should be committed. Sherlock wasn't exactly "boyfriend material."

So what would they become? Fuck buddies? John was already too emotionally attached for that to work. He was fairly certain Sherlock would never love him, he wasn't sure the man was capable of such a thing. Sherlock cared about him, he was attracted to him but he would never love him. At least not in the way John wanted. He'd have to accept that if he wanted this to continue.

John was so lost in his thoughts he didn't notice he had used all the hot water and the shower was becoming unbearably cold. He quickly rinsed the soap off his body, unable to stand in the cold spray for too long. When he stepped out of the shower, a shiver went down his spine and he felt his skin get covered in goosebumps.

When he was somewhat dry, he walked back into his room. Sherlock was on his side, facing away from John so he couldn't tell if he was asleep. He debated putting on underwear or pajamas or something before getting back in the bed. But since Sherlock was naked, he saw no reason to get dressed.

As he climbed into bed, he made a split second decision and formed his much shorter body against Sherlock's. When Sherlock didn't move away, John beamed bigger than he ever had in his life. He wrapped his arm around Sherlock and placed it over his heart to feel it beating. _So he does have one,_ John mused to himself. He was surprised when Sherlock's hand moved up and covered his. Their fingers laced together as if they were collectively attempting to keep Sherlock's heart from escaping his chest.

"You smell nice." Sherlock said. John didn't respond and instead kissed the nape of Sherlock's neck. He would save the fretting for later and instead concentrate on the fact that he was able to touch, kiss, hold, and do whatever he wanted to this beautiful man.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock was lying on John's bed, which was becoming somewhat of a habit. John was sitting in the bed normally while Sherlock was leaning his back against the bedpost facing opposite him. His feet rested on the pillow were his head was supposed to go. He was filling John in on the case he'd missed, enjoying every time John interrupted to praise him and his intellect. Not that he needed John's adoration but it was nice to hear anyway.

John was taking notes, preparing to write it up in his blog. This annoyed Sherlock but he chose not to say anything. He'd already made his feelings about the Blog of Doctor John Watson perfectly clear. Yet John continued to write in it. Sherlock wanted to bring it up again, to find a way to get John to desist but he remembered how John reacted the last time and stopped himself. It was better to save his energy for fights he could win.

While telling John about the latest case, Sherlock texted Lestrade and helped with some minor, insignificant cases. He didn't mind as long as he could do so from the comfort of his own flat. Every time Sherlock took a break from the story to text, John sucked on the end of his pen. It shouldn't affect Sherlock but it did, he found it oddly distracting.

He had had previous sexual partners before the good doctor, all of them before he'd ever even met John. They were never about pleasure though. He considered them scientific exploration. It was merely a way to collect data. He'd tried to get the information he needed from watching pornography but the terrible storylines made is vastly difficult. No, the best way to collect data, he'd decided, was to do it himself.

He could have asked Molly, she would be a willing test subject. He knew from the way her pupils dilated and her shortness of breath when he walked in the room that she was attracted to him. Her little crush would be annoying if it wasn't so useful. Instead he chose Sgt. Donovan. She was a strong, healthy woman and although Sherlock wasn't particularly interested in her, she would be a fascinating subject.

After they had sexual intercourse, Sherlock had sat down and began writing notes. It was the first time Sally ever called him a freak, although he assumed she had thought it many times before that. He tried to explain, not because he cared to but because he didn't want to disturb the valuable relationship he had with the police. Sally didn't let him, choosing instead to storm out. Sherlock didn't mind although he would have appreciated a better working environment.

There was also the time Mycroft got Sherlock drunk and ordered him a male escort. Sherlock remembered very little of that night, and he preferred to keep it that way. Then of course there was the lovely girl he lost his virginity to at Uni. It was just to see what all the fuss was about. It had been sufficiently awkward and needless to say Sherlock had no desire to experience it again after that first time.

He still had no idea what compelled him to kiss John that first time. He'd never had an overwhelming desire to kiss John before. It was just the culmination of his boredom and frustration. An act of selfishness although he was sure John didn't see it that way. Anything to keep from being bored.

Then when he tried to ignore it, John began slipping away. He would have preferred if John had gotten angry and eventually gotten over it. Instead he started ignoring Sherlock back, stopped helping with the cases, and started spending too much time at the clinic. He feared the rejection had sent John running into the arms of Sarah. Part of him would have been happy that he'd found someone who could reciprocate his feelings. A very small part of him. He was astonished to find himself relieved that John instead turned to masturbation.

Finally it came down to a decision. He could either play along and attempt a relationship or lose John forever. It wasn't that he was adverse to a relationship with John. He just knew that John deserved more. John, with his huge range of emotions and his big heart. He had no business getting mixed up with a sociopath who hardly understood emotions at all, let alone felt them.

In truth, Sherlock was admittedly _fond_ of John. In some ways he was also curious about him. He was the best companion Sherlock could hope for. Loyal, a good sense of morality, strong, even adventurous. It didn't translate to a relationship though, or at least it hadn't in Sherlock's mind. If he were to require a relationship of someone, he could think of no one better than John Watson. The problem was he didn't require a relationship.

Sherlock had presumed this would never be an issue. He'd seen John as straight, a picture of heterosexuality. The sort of person who was enticed by someone as average as Sarah. He assumed when he kissed John he would be pushed away, things would be awkward for a few days and then they would move on. Perhaps he had unknowingly unlocked something inside John Watson when he kissed him. Now his selfish act was having consequences.

More peculiar still was how much Sherlock enjoyed his sexual exploits with John. This could be a golden opportunity to do some research. He had a willing test subject and it would turn out to be surprisingly entertaining. When John was gone off to work, Sherlock planned to make a list of different sexual acts to perform on the army doctor. See just how far he could push an honorable man when orgasms were involved. Sherlock stared at John and wondered what he would let him do.

Sherlock was taken aback when John absentmindedly reached over and began stroking Sherlock's foot. John's finger was slightly bent, the back of it caressing his instep. The weirdest bit was that it felt actually kind of…pleasant. He adjusted his hand so it rested on the top of Sherlock's foot and his thumb brushed over the bottom. The feeling sent an involuntary shiver down Sherlock's spine. He had to take control of the situation fast.

"John." He said once they were done with the story. "I'm bored."

"Oh." John said looking somewhat baffled. "Let me just type this up and we can go to dinner or something."

"That's not what I had in mind John." Sherlock said biting his lower lip.

"Oh." John said again as Sherlock's proposition dawned on him.

Sherlock sat up and began to crawl towards John in a predatory way. The prospect of having sex with John again has gotten him unexpectedly excited. John licked his lips, something he did much too often. Sherlock put his knee between John's legs to force them apart and rubbed his reproductive organ through his trousers.

Sherlock was strangely satisfied by the affect he was having. Now he could have John's full attention, no more sharing him with people like Sarah. The idea was appealing. He'd never had claim over a human being before. He'd already started making mental lists of what John liked and disliked, even before they started a physical relationship. The list had practically doubled since they'd started having sex.

"Sherlock I really wanted to finish this tonight…"

Sherlock interrupted him by pressing his lips against his. Kissing was at the top of the list of things John liked. John put his hands on Sherlock's chest and gently pushes him away. Sherlock blinked in confusion. The kissing should have worked. He must have miscalculated something.

John rested his forehead against Sherlock's and he had no idea what to do. "You don't fight fair, do you know that?" John smiled and Sherlock took that to be a good sign.

"Before we proceed I just have one question." Sherlock planned to start his experiments as soon as possible.

"Yes?" John asked shifting uncertainly.

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course." John answered without thinking.

"I mean implicitly." Sherlock wanted John to think about it, not just answer blindly.

"I trust you with my life Sherlock." Again he didn't stop to think about it but it would have to do.

"Get undressed." Sherlock ordered him before elegantly hopping off the bed and dashing from the room. When he arrived back, John had just finished taking his trousers off and was standing in just his boxers. Sherlock walked over and toyed with the waistband a little before tugging them down.

"So, what did you have in mind?" John asked standing there naked.

"Sit on the bed." Sherlock commanded. He watched as John did as he was told. Sherlock smiled to himself, liking the feeling of being in charge. He would have to look up some S&M sites later on to get ideas.

"Now what?" John asked.

Sherlock wordlessly grabbed him by the wrist and snapped a handcuff shut just above where his hand rested. Then he took the over side and closed it over the bedpost. "Bloody hell Sherlock, what are you doing?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"I would have thought it was obvious." Sherlock said disappointed.

"Why am I handcuffed to the bed?" John asked in annoyance, pulling on the handcuffs.

"You said you trusted me." He reminded him.

"That was before you did this." John countered, still pulling on the cuffs.

"Come on John." Sherlock scolded, wondering how he could have miscalculated yet again. If John didn't like the handcuffs, it was doubtful he would be up for much else. The best solution was to make him like them.

"Sherlock, if you come closer, my free hand will hit you." John warned.

"Why are you upset?" Sherlock asked needing to understand.

"You don't handcuff someone to the bed without asking." Sherlock made a mental note. When it came to sex, always ask before doing.

"So if I had asked, you would have been fine with being handcuffed to the bed?" Sherlock clarified.

"I-" John stopped, considering it. "I guess so."

That wasn't a yes. Sherlock would have to get him used to the idea. "Surely it isn't that bad." He walked over, hoping John wouldn't follow through on his threat of violence. Using only two fingers Sherlock pushed him down onto the bed. His hands trailed down John's body and then he did the same with his lips, stopping at certain spots (nipples, penis) to give them extra attention.

John used his only free hand to grab Sherlock by the back of the head and press his lips to his. Sherlock grinned against the kiss triumphantly, knowing he had been right, John was big on kissing. John's tongue had found his and it felt like their tongues are in an epic duel. Sherlock made a mental note that he too enjoyed kissing.

"I can't unbutton your shirt when I'm like this." John informed him, pulling away.

"Of course." He nodded and began undressing himself.

"Slower." It's a request not a command so Sherlock did as he asked. He took great care undoing each button until he finally slipped his shirt off and let it fall to the floor. John licked his lips again and he had at least a partial erection.

Sherlock began to undo his pants when his phone rang from his pocket. He grabbed it and glanced at the caller ID. Lestrade. It must have been a case. Sherlock's eyes flickered to the naked army doctor cuffed to the bed and debated answering it. He made a split second decision and pressed send right as John told him not to.

"What have you got?" Sherlock asked not bothering with niceties.

"Triple Homicide over by Hyde Park. We could really use you on this one." Lestrade filled him in. As if there was a time when he wasn't needed.

"I'll be right there." Sherlock hung up and slipped the phone back in his pocket. He grabbed his shirt off the floor where he'd dropped it.

"Uh, Sherlock." John said to attract his attention. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"Of course not." Sherlock said as if that was a ridiculous notion, which it was.

"You're not leaving me here." John's mouth dropped open. "Not like this."

"I'll be back in an hour." Sherlock said bending down and giving John a quick kiss. "I want you exactly like this when I get back."

"What am I supposed to do for an hour?" John asked aghast. "What if it takes you longer than an hour? What if I have to pee?"

"I'll bring you your laptop." Sherlock offered.

"So I can piss on it?" John joked, raising an eyebrow.

"See, you've already got a sense of humor about it." Sherlock smiled, slipping into his coat.

"You can't do this." John desperately pulled on the handcuffs to get free.

"Don't do that, you'll hurt yourself." Sherlock warned.

"Then get me out of here!" John yelled in frustration.

"One hour." Sherlock promised holding up a finger. He retrieved John's laptop and an old jam jar from downstairs and took them up to him. He placed the laptop on the bed and the jar on the bedside table.

"Sherlock, please. I'm asking nicely. Just let me go. I could come with you to the crime scene. I could tidy up the apartment. I could literally be doing a thousand different things that are better than lying here handcuffed to my own bed."

"The point is not what you could be doing." Sherlock said knotting his scarf around his neck.

"Then what is the point?" John challenged.

"The point is that I've got you right where I want you." Sherlock said playfully biting John's bottom lip.

"Sherlock, please!" John begged.

Sherlock turned on his heel and headed out the door. "One hour." He called over his shoulder.

"Sherlock, come back. Sherlock don't you dare leave me like this. I will never forgive you for this. SHERLOCK!"

He could still hear John's yells all the way to the front door. Once outside it, the busy London streets drowned him out. Sherlock grinned, thinking that if John kept up his yelling Mrs. Hudson would be sure to go up and investigate. That would give her some stories to tell her friends. He reached into his pocket and checked to make sure he had the key to the chuffs. If Mrs. Hudson did find John and decided to help, he wanted to be sure she couldn't unlock them. Sherlock hailed a cab and got in. He gave the apartment one last look as the cab drove away, unable to think of anything else than the army doctor tied up inside. Not even the excitement of a triple homicide was enough to distract him.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock arrived at the scene and ducked under the police tape. He put his gloves on and walked over to Lestrade and Sally who were standing over three dead bodies. Sherlock couldn't help but roll his eyes at how stumped they looked. Honestly, how did any murders get solved in London without his help? He took a walk around the bodies, to do preliminary deductions first before kneeling to get a closer look.

"So no John again?" Lestrade asked, his voice sounding concerned.

"He was unavoidably detained." Was all Sherlock said in response. He tried and failed to keep from smiling at the thought of why John was detained.

"Have you got anything?" Lestrade asked, misinterpreting his smile.

Sherlock forced himself to concentrate on the issue at hand. It took him longer to usual to determine what had happened, mainly because his thoughts were clouded with images of John. He knew the doctor could get free if he had a mind to. Just a few broken bones and he'd be able to do what he pleased. Would he though?

Sherlock's mind raced to get an answer. John was loyal but staying handcuffed wasn't exactly a test of loyalty. John had been in the army, so he was used to taking orders but he didn't just blindly obey (he'd demonstrated that on a number of occasions). There's was nothing in the data to suggest what John might do.

He couldn't help chastising himself for never doing this sooner. Human behavior was always such an enigma. Why had he never done experiments to understand them better before? The answer came quickly; because he had never had a test subject like John Watson before. A willing participant.

John was always somewhat surprising, never reacting in exactly the way Sherlock imagined he would. The kiss was a prime example. He'd never thought kissing John would lead to them becoming lovers. It would be a study into the human condition. Or at the very least a study in John, which Sherlock didn't mind.

"We haven't got all day freak." Sally spit out the last word like she always did.

"Sally, give him a minute." Lestrade reprimanded her.

Sgt. Donovan left in a huff and Sherlock forced himself to concentrate. When he was finished, he stood and walked over to Lestrade. "Well?" he asked expectantly.

"Find, this woman's husband. He's the murderer." Sherlock said and turned to leave, anxious to get home.

"Care to elaborate?" Lestrade asked.

Sherlock sighed in annoyance. "This woman was having sex with both of these men."

"How do you-"

"They all smell similar. Not in a I just sat down next to you a pub way but in an intimate way." Sherlock can't help wondering if he smells like John.

"And neither of them are her husband?"

"Of course not." Sherlock said wondering how Lestrade could miss something so obvious but the DI stared at him blankly so Sherlock clarified again. "One of them is wearing a wedding ring but it's at least five years newer than the one she's wearing."

"So you think her husband found out about her two lovers and shot her."

"It is the most logical conclusion. I found this in her hand." Sherlock produced a piece of paper, a note saying where to go and what time. "Written by a man, left-handed. Neither of these men write with their left hand. If her husband is left-handed, he's your man."

"So if we—"

"Sorry, gotta dash." Sherlock said looking at his watch. It had been forty-five minutes since he left John. If he left immediately he might make it within his one hour time frame if the London traffic was agreeable.

"But we have to—"

"What?" Sherlock interrupted in irritation. "I've told you everything I know. All that's left to do is find the husband and bring him in. I assume that is something you can handle without me."

"Fine." Lestrade wasn't happy. Sherlock didn't care.

Sherlock was making his way to the main rode to get a cab when a phone started going off. It wasn't his usual ringtone so he ignored it until the ringing stopped. He was almost to the main road when it rang again. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pink phone. Sherlock always kept it with him, hoping Moriarty might call or text, start up the game again. The phone had been silent for months, Sherlock had actually forgotten about it. He was accustomed to the weight of it consistently being in his pocket.

The number was blocked. Sherlock expected as much. He put the phone to his ear and pressed the talk button.

"Hello." Moriarty squeaked in his strange little voice. "My dead. Did you miss me?"

"Moriarty." Sherlock said, his voice even, needing to say his name. He moved into the alley to a point where he was out of a snipers line of sight.

"Oh don't worry darling. No snipers this time."

Sherlock looked around for how Moriarty could see him. There was a CCTV camera across the street. It moved slightly when his eyes focused on it.

"Very good." Jim said impressed.

"What is it you hope to gain from this?" Sherlock asked, wondering what had caused Moriarty to break his silence.

"Just a friendly little chat." Jim replied cheerfully.

"The last time we met, you tried to kill me." Sherlock pointed out.

"I did do that, didn't I?" Moriarty said in a playful tone. "And you still didn't heed my warning. Even now you still want to find me."

"So I can kill you."

"Don't be ridiculous, you won't kill me."

"Do you have a terribly compelling reason why I shouldn't?"

"I've been watching you. I've seen you go out of your mind while I was gone. What will you do if I'm gone forever? Who will entertain you then?"

"That's the thing about criminals, no matter how many you catch, more pop up."

"I like to think of myself as a higher class of criminal." Jim sniffed.

"You're not." Sherlock said to the camera, knowing Moriarty could see him. "You're just like all the others I've put away."

"No point in being nasty." Jim scolded and Sherlock could hear he'd struck a cord. "Or maybe you think Johnny-boy is enough to keep you occupied."

Sherlock sucked in a breath, not dignifying it with a response.

"Yes Sherlock." Jim said quietly. It felt as though the consulting criminals lips were there, whispering into Sherlock's ear. "I know your dirty little secret."

Sherlock could almost hear Moriarty smirking as he spoke again. "I never thought I'd see you like that. Tell me how it feels."

"No." Sherlock said immediately.

"Fine." Jim said angrily. "Then tell me how it would feel if John Watson stopped breathing. What would you do if you arrived home to find his cold, lifeless body?" Would you cry? _Would you be aroused_?"

"Stop." Sherlock said not wanting to hear anymore but unable to hang up.

"I think you would." Moriarty was obviously loving this. "I think you'd get off on it."

Sherlock ignored the way his pants were becoming a bit tight in the crouch. He wasn't going to look down and call attention to it. He wasn't going to give Jim the satisfaction.

"Tell me." Jim said, his voice harsh. "What would you do if you found John like that?"

"Why does it matter?" Sherlock asked trying to sound disinterested.

"Because you might be faced with this scenario sooner than you think."

Sherlock's thoughts turned to John, still handcuffed to the bed. He'd be like a sitting duck if Moriarty sent someone to the house. He could position a sniper across the street and take John out before he ever got a chance to get away.

"Awfully nice of you to gift-wrap him for me." Moriarty chuckled and the sound made every one of Sherlock's hairs stand on end.

"Don't." Sherlock choked out unable to say anything else.

"I'll tell you what, I'll let your pet live if you tell me what his cum tastes like."

Sherlock felt like at any second he might be violently ill. Moriarty was playing mind games, trying to get a rise out of him. Sherlock was embarrassed by how well Jim was succeeding. He swallowed the lump in his throat with some difficulty.

"Don't feel like sharing?" Jim asked growing impatient.

"Piss off." Sherlock replied.

"Careful sweetheart, remember there are lives at stake. Unless you really want me to kill John. Would you like me to do that for you? Think of how easily I could rid you of that emotional lease he's slipped around your neck."

"If you kill John, I will use everything I have to hunt you down and kill you."

"Is that supposed to deter me? If anything you're giving me more of an incentive." Moriarty informed him. "Has anyone ever told you you're sexy when you worry."

Sherlock didn't bother answering. Instead his brain was searching for an answer, for some way out of the predicament, a way to save John.

"You really want to save him?" Moriarty's words cut through Sherlock's thoughts.

"Yes." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Lucky for you, I'm in a playful mood. You've got fifteen minutes to get there."

"Ok." Sherlock nodded.

"On foot." Moriarty added. "I see you get in a cab, John dies."

"But that's impossible."

"You're wasting time." Jim warned him, his voice giddy. "Run Sherlock. Run!"

Sherlock took off down the street, putting to use his excellent sense of direction and his knowledge of shortcuts. He had to make it in time. It was raining, the drops soaking his coat and weighing him down. His calves started to burn as he pushed his body to go faster than it was used to. His coat whipped around him as he raced through London. His whole brain was shouting at him that he wasn't going to make it.

It was roughly a 20 minute walk from Hyde Park to Baker street. Running was giving him an advantage but he still had to shave off five minutes, hopefully more. Even if he did get there on time, there was no reason to believe Moriarty would keep his word. He could still shoot John dead just for fun or spite, which ever tickled his fancy.

As he turned onto Baker Street with just three minutes left, the only thought occupying his mind was _not now._ John couldn't die now. Not when Sherlock had just begun his experiments. Not when he had finally found someone he could call a friend. He couldn't lose the only person he had any physical attraction to. His only ally against the world.

Sherlock burst through the door of 221B and took the stairs two at a time. He entered the flat gasping for air but continued up to John's room. There was an unbearable pain in his chest and it felt like any moment his legs might collapse from underneath him. He couldn't give up now though. He opened the door to John's bedroom and glanced at his watch. He'd made it with thirty seconds left.

Something hit Sherlock square in the chest, startling him. "You complete bastard. You narcissistic, god damn piece of shit."

Sherlock blinked, completely baffled. He looked at John who was seething with rage and then down at the pillow at his feet. John had chucked a pillow at him and it looked like he meant to throw another.

"I've been here for what seems like fucking forever!" John yelled. "The battery on the laptop died so I've had nothing to do and I'm starving. Now let me out."

"John." Sherlock said staring at his friend. He was alive. It felt like a massive weight had been lifted off Sherlock's shoulders. He took several deep breaths trying to regulate his breathing again.

"Bloody hell, what happened to you?" John asked noticing his condition.

"It's not important." Sherlock waved it off. There was no point in telling John about Moriarty's threat, at least not yet, maybe not ever.

In a few short strides, he crossed the room and closed the gap between them. He wrapped his arms around John's neck and covered his mouth with his own. John was alive and in that moment nothing else mattered.

XXX

Sherlock could hear John's breathing as he slept, gently snoring. John's face rested against Sherlock's back, their legs tangled up in each other's. Sherlock had been so intensely emerged in the sex he'd shared with John after that kiss that he hadn't done any of his experiments. He hadn't even taken any mental notes, too busy enjoying every feeling John gave him. The way his mouth tasted, the feel of his penis finding Sherlock's prostate, the way his free hand rested on Sherlock's hip, his fingers digging in just slightly.

Sherlock shifted in the bed, wanting to see John's face. John compensated in his sleep and moved so his head rested on Sherlock's chest. He ran his fingers through John's sandy blond hair and stared at the man's beautiful face. Because John was beautiful. Even as he slept, his face showed such strength. Sherlock thought back to what Moriarty had said and decided that no, he would not be aroused by John's death. Nothing would ever be remotely attractive about the light going from John's eyes, his expressive face frozen in one expression forever. It would never be as good as a living, breathing John who could kiss him back.

Sherlock's eyes were starting to droop even though he wanted to stay up a bit longer to make sure nothing happened to John. Jim's threats had shaken him up more than he wanted to admit. He knew Moriarty had probably watched them, was still probably watching them. He tried not to dwell on it, he would concern himself with that matter in the morning.

Just before he drifted off to sleep, the pink phone dinged. Sherlock reached for it and opened the text message from the unknown number.

_Was it as good for you as it was for me? _

_ JM _


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock lied on the couch, two nicotine patches adorning his arm. He had his eyes closed, focusing on the problem at had. He had never used nicotine patches to solve personal problems; then again he had never really had personal problems before. Now he was going through them at an alarming rate.

It had been three days since Moriarty's threat on John's life and his words were still echoing inside Sherlock's head. _How would you feel if John Watson stopped breathing? _Feelings. They were such a strange concept to him. His stunted emotional range made it hard to predict how he might react given that situation. Sadness, he imagined. Grief on some level. He'd feel the loss of his friend. Not as much, he assumed, as other people. People who could more easily access that part of themselves.

His body was still physically feeling the effects of that day. His muscle were sore, it had been foolish not to see to them the moment he knew John was safe. Moriarty had kept his word, which Sherlock was grateful for. The man had, after all, described himself as changeable.

Sherlock was distressed with how easily Moriarty could get into their flat. At any moment the man could threaten them again. There were solutions, of course there were. They could move, but that wasn't very appealing. They could add more security to the flat but Sherlock feared Jim would see it as a challenge. He could ask Mycroft for assistance, perhaps get John a bodyguard. But no, John was not the sort of man who would agree to that. He was not the sort of man who believed he needed protecting.

Sherlock grunted in frustration. There had to be a solution, there was always a solution. The pink phone dinged.

_You look troubled dear. _

Sherlock put the phone down, ignoring it. It dinged again.

_Too busy worrying to talk? _

Sherlock's thumbs pounded the keys as he typed back a response.

**Not Interested. **

** SH**

_Shall I find a way to peak your interest then? _

**You could tell me where you are. **

_Craving a little face time? _

** I need a target for shooting practice. **

_The wall no longer satisfactory? _

**I'd much prefer your head. **

_Someone's in a bad mood. How shall I cheer you up? _

**Current location please? **

_How about I tell you were the good doctor hid his gun?_

Sherlock stopped for a moment. This was tempting. He hadn't had a need for the gun as of late. John was quite good at keeping him…distracted. He could have found it on his own, if he had been up to the task.

_?_

**Not interested. **

He put the phone on silent and slipped it into his pocket. He didn't want to leave it lying around for fear that John might find it and read what had been going on. He didn't want John to know he'd been talking with Moriarty. John would probably disapprove.

XXX

Sherlock had been acting strange ever since he had handcuffed John to the bed. John had tried to understand why, to figure out the reason of Sherlock's distress. He hadn't come up with anything yet. If anyone should have been upset about that day, it was John. Whatever was bugging Sherlock, he wasn't going to share. John wished he had Sherlock's brain so he could deduce what was troubling him. Sherlock had drawn inward, internalizing everything. Not that Sherlock was ever a very open person to begin with but he had been extra closed off lately. Not just that but quiet, unnervingly so.

John decided the best policy was just to ask Sherlock outright. He found Sherlock in the bathtub, up to his chest in bubbles. It was a strange sight, seeing Sherlock so relaxed, or at the very least trying to relax. John perched himself on the edge of the tub wondering how to begin. Sherlock's foot was out of the water and John started stroking it without a second thought. Sherlock's eyes snapped to attention and stared at John's hand just like they often did when John touched him unexpectedly.

"What brought this on?" John asked never having seen Sherlock take a bath in all the time they lived together.

"I had a sore muscle, I thought a bath might help." Sherlock said simply.

"Lestrade called a little while ago. They found the woman's husband." John informed him.

"Left-handed?"

John nodded. "They've already arrested him. Lestrade told me to pass on his thanks."

"Hm." Was all Sherlock said in response. He pointedly sat up in the tub so his foot jerked out of John's hand and into the water.

John pursed his lips tightly in annoyance. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong or are you going to continue being like this until I guess?"

"And how am I being?" Sherlock challenged, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"You've been acting strange ever since the day you handcuffed me to the bed."

"I don't know what you mean." Sherlock rubbed some soap into his chest, John assumed it was a reason not to meet his stare. He reached over and put a finger under Sherlock's chin, gently pushing his head upwards to meet John's gaze.

"You've been using a lot of nicotine patches over the last three days even though as far as I know you don't have a case. There's also the fact that you won't touch me or look me in they eye. You've barely spoken a word in the last three days."

"I told you I did that on the first day we met. I hardly think you can hold it against me now."

"Well things are different now, aren't they?" John said moving his hand to Sherlock's cheek, his thumb running against those impossible cheekbones.

"I suppose they are."

XXXX

Sherlock was quite alarmed with how quickly John had figured out something was wrong. He would have to learn to be more subtle in the future. But between Moriarty's constant pestering texts and worrying about how to keep John safe, he hadn't been thinking of exercising caution about his behavior. He figured this was how he always acted but it had been his actions before that that had been unusual. Kissing John, sleeping with him had been odd, had changed everything. Acting like he had before the sex was what had caught John's attention.

"Have you eaten?" John asked standing up from his seat on the edge of the tub.

"Yes." Sherlock answered disinterested.

"Have you eaten_, today_." John clarified.

He didn't answer, knowing that was enough of a response. John's faced became pinched in irritation and wordlessly he left the room although there was the faintest bit of grumbling under his breath. Sherlock unplugged the bath and wrapped himself in the towel he had put aside. Walking into the bedroom, he let the towel fall to the floor and slipped into his robe.

He was about to go find John when the pink phone dinged. Sherlock debated whether or not to read it. He knew John was upset with him (even though he wasn't good with emotions, he could always tell that) and that he should do his best to smooth things over. But Moriarty could be making another threat. It would be foolish to ignore it.

_My how well your pet looks after you_

Sherlock didn't bother to respond. Just another childish attempt at winding him up.

_Enjoy it while you can. _

Sherlock felt a sharp, involuntary breath as he read Jim's latest text. He suddenly had the strongest urge to find John, to wrap his arms around him. He wanted to feel John's heartbeat. He quickly hid the phone in a pair of socks and went to join John in the kitchen.

John was making beans on toast and didn't acknowledge Sherlock as he walked into the room. He made his way around the kitchen table, admiring John from a distance. Even as he stirred beans, he held himself like a solider. Sherlock took his time, memorizing everything from the way John's neck and ears got pink when he realized Sherlock was staring to the way he shifted his feet uncomfortably.

Sherlock stood behind him and wrapped his arms around the doctor's waist, one covering his heart, the other low on his belly. He wished John wasn't wearing such a thick jumper so he could feel his heartbeat more easily. He corrected the situation by slipping his hand under the jumper and finding his heart on his chest again. John's neck became tightened and Sherlock pressed his lips to it, hoping he would relax.

"You can't win back my affections with sex." John said tightly.

"I can try." Sherlock reasoned, moving his lips so he could gently nibble at John's ear.

"You need to tell me what's going on Sherlock." He could hear John fighting to keep control.

"It's nothing you need to concern yourself with." His hand at John's stomach began moving lower.

"It's obviously concerning you." He pointed out, his voice getting gruff. "You don't have to deal with everything on your own."

Sherlock slipped his hand out of John's jumper and used it to turn the man's face to his. The kiss started off innocently, just their lips pressed together. Sherlock liked when John coaxed a deeper kiss out of him with his tongue. John sucked his top lip then his tongue slipped through, parting Sherlock's lips.

John turned around and grabbed Sherlock by the back of the head, his fingers tangling in the curls there. He pushed Sherlock against the table, the edge of it digging into the back of his leg. John's hand descended down. "Bloody hell." He said, obviously surprised to find Sherlock was not wearing anything under his robe.

Sherlock pushed his body up off the table and instead pressed John against the fridge. John smiled against their kiss and put his hand on Sherlock's arse, spinning so John was in control and walking them backwards until Sherlock landed quite suddenly on the couch. John untied the cord of Sherlock's robe and let it fall open.

Sherlock felt his heart racing as John's eyes examined him. His eyes taking their time to look over every bit of his body. When John finally moved closer, his lips finding Sherlock's throat, Sherlock felt as though his whole body was electrically charged. John began rolling his thumb over Sherlock's nipples and then unexpectedly bringing his forefinger in to pinch them. The feeling made Sherlock jump and John laughed against Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock grabbed the bottom of John's jumper and tugged it upwards over his head and threw it across the room. His fingertips lightly felt down John's back and then up again, making John shiver with delight. He repeated the action, this time digging his nails in. It would leave marks but he hadn't done it hard enough to draw blood. John's body jerked against Sherlock's in surprise and Sherlock felt a devilish grin form on his lips.

John slid down to his knees and ran his fingers along Sherlock's thighs. He did it again, this time getting even closer to Sherlock's genitals and he twitched in anticipation. John's tongue flicked against the tip of Sherlock's penis and he moaned in response. John took the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it. Sherlock's arms flung out and grabbed the sofa tightly, feeling somewhat overwhelmed.

John moved back and forth, just working the head. Sherlock could feel himself growing in John's mouth. He closed his eyes, the visual too much for him to handle. He rested his head back onto the top of the sofa and stared at the ceiling. He could hear himself panting loudly mixed with the sound of John moaning around his penis.

John's hands reached up and grabbed Sherlock by the hips and pulled him down slightly. He grabbed Sherlock's feet and flung them over his shoulders so his legs rested on his back. Sherlock was confused by the point of this action until John's fingers slipped into his anus. John had positioned him for access to his prostate. As his fingers slowly moved in and out of his arse, he dislodged himself from Sherlock's penis and worked it over with his tongue, sliding it up and down the shaft.

Sherlock began moaning, having never felt anything as intense as he was feeling right now. John slipped a third finger into his arse, moving them more quickly. Sherlock felt his heels digging into John's back as the man fucked him too different ways. John took Sherlock back into his mouth, taking him halfway then the whole way. John's fingers found Sherlock's prostate and moved in time to his mouth, in and out.

Sherlock could hear himself screaming, surprised by the sound. Noises he had never heard himself make in his life ripped from his throat. He was overcome, so overcome with pleasure. His whole body was shaking; his fingers clutched the sofa, his nails threatening to pull apart the upholstery. His body jerked violently as a powerful orgasm ran through him, as he emptied himself into John's mouth.

John placed Sherlock's feet back on the floor and stood. Sherlock felt his whole body collapse as if it were made of jelly. John wiped his mouth and then went and sat down next to Sherlock on the couch. John kissed him on the cheek then moved his lips to his ear. "I never took you for a screamer."

"Neither did I." Sherlock breathed, his breath had hardly returned to him yet.

XXXX

John had gotten the position from watching gay porn. It was how he had used his time handcuffed to the bed, with just his laptop to keep him company. If Sherlock was already adding handcuffs into the mix, it wouldn't be long before he was introducing much freakier stuff. John decided the best way to counteract this was to show Sherlock how great sex could be when it was just their bodies. The moment Sherlock started screaming, John knew he had succeeded.

It was still bugging him that he had no idea why Sherlock had been acting different the last few days. Asking outright hadn't worked and Sherlock wasn't going to offer up the information freely. John had been so sure that things had changed between them. It seemed that each time they took their physical relationship further, Sherlock reacted by becoming even more closed off. John feared what Sherlock might do this time.

John recalled how Sherlock had said relationship, like the word had no real meaning for him. He started to worry that this was just a purely physical thing for Sherlock, that he had no emotional attachment to John whatsoever. What if he was just a body to Sherlock? Nothing more than convenience? He didn't dare ask, dreading Sherlock would confirm these assumptions.

"Tea?" John asked getting up off the couch, needing a distraction from his own thoughts. He had been rock-hard a moment ago until he started fretting. Now any trace of an erection was gone. He put the kettle on the stove and waited, not allowing himself to think about Sherlock who was still sitting on the couch, his robe open.

When he finally did allow himself to peak into the livingroom, Sherlock was gone. John assumed he had gone to get dressed. He couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed. He forced himself to put all his attention into the task at hand.

XXXXX

Sherlock got up from the couch with some difficulty and headed into the bedroom to compose himself. He walked with his hand on the wall, as if any moment his legs might give out and he would fall. John Watson was something else. He was incredible.

Sherlock pressed his back against the wall and closed his eyes. He'd never felt anything so…powerful before. Was this how most people reacted to sex? Or was it because the sex was of a certain caliber? He hated that his knowledge was so limited on the subject. But the thought of other sexual partners made him cringe. The few times he'd had sex they were clumsy, awkward and unbearable. Why was sex with John so effortless? So enjoyable? Why did he crave John's touch, his attention, the feel of their lips pressed together?

He wanted to ask John about it but was hesitant. A conversation such as that might reveal more than he wanted to. He would just have to be content and figure things about on his own. It couldn't be that hard to dissect his emotions. He would have to approach it carefully and scientifically to understand what it meant.

A muffled noise came from his sock drawer and Sherlock recalled that was where he had hidden the pink phone. He retrieved it, wondering what childish remark Jim had waiting for him this time. Instead of a text message he found a voicemail waiting for him. He reluctantly pressed send and waited.

A strange noise, as if someone were breathing, quite heavily in fact came on. He heard something slippery sounding and realized it was someone masturbating. His mind scoured for an answer, for a reason Moriarty had sent him this. Then he heard his own screams in the background and started to understand. Jim had been watching, more so than that, he had gotten off on it.

The thought made him gag, bile threatening to rise. He pressed end, unable to listen anymore. He didn't want to hear Moriarty climax, he didn't want to ruin it anymore than Jim already had. He was finding new ways to torture Sherlock, new ways to mess with his head. He wouldn't stop, not until he got what he wanted. But what did he want? John and Sherlock both dead? It seemed unlikely since no threats had been made against Sherlock's life, at least not since the pool.

John then. He wanted John out of the picture. Sherlock made the decision that he would do whatever it took to keep John safe. But how? He'd been racking his brain for days and still had no idea how to keep John out of Moriarty's reach.

It dawned on him and he felt foolish for not having thought of it before. The way to keep John safe had been right there in front of him the whole time, he had just been too selfish to see it. The answer was so simple. But would he be strong enough to do what needed to be done?


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock awoke to find his arms and legs wrapped around John, holding him close. It was as if he subconscious knew this was the last time he would be able to hold him. That it was the last time he would wake up next to John Watson. The thought gave him a strange pain in his chest and he pulled John in tighter.

"Sherlock, if you intend for me to keep breathing you're going to have to loosen your grip." John muttered still partly asleep.

He was joking, of course he was. Sherlock couldn't help feeling uneasy at his choice of words. He buried his head in John's neck and breathed deeply. He had to memorize every detail, while he still could. When he had saved the way John smelled, he began tracing the features on his face with his finger. He ran it along each forehead line, the bridge of his nose, his perfect lips.

"Hmm, that tickles." John said wiggling slightly, his eyes still closed.

Sherlock went over the same places again, this time with his lips. He kissed both eyelids before concentrating on John's mouth. John pulled away and rolled over onto his side away from Sherlock. "Bloody Hell Sherlock, five more minutes."

Sherlock had the strongest urge to pull him back, to force John to kiss him. Instead he got up from the bed and went into the kitchen. The burned mess of beans was still there, now covered in foam from the fire extinguisher. They had completely forgotten about them until they caught on fire. John had yelled at Sherlock for distracting him, saying he could have burned down the flat.

Sherlock put the kettle on and started making toast. He didn't have much of a talent for cooking, never having been interested in culinary pursuits. If he were to throw himself into it, he assumed it couldn't be that difficult. Food had never been a high priority, then again neither had sex . He had come around to that fairly quickly.

He went into the fridge and found a few eggs. He was certain he could handle making John some eggs. He cracked them into a bowl, whisked them up and poured them into a pan. The kettle began to whistle and he could smell the toast starting to burn. Honestly, how did people do this?

He abandoned the eggs to save the toast, pulling them from the toaster and burning his fingers. He stifled a cry and dropped them on the counter. They were dark but not inedible. He went to retrieve the jam and tried to ignore the loud whistle from the kettle. He spun around feeling flustered, having forgotten where they kept the knives.

"Damn it!" he cried out in frustration.

"Are you trying to make breakfast?" John asked from the kitchen doorway, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Attempting and failing." Sherlock said bitterly.

"You could have asked for my help." John said giving him a small smile.

"You said you required more sleep." Sherlock reminded him, going over to the cupboard and retrieving two cups.

"Wait, were you planning on bringing me breakfast in bed?" John asked, his smile widening.

"That was my intention, yes." Sherlock nodded.

"That's very…nice of you." John said surprised.

"Are you going to help or are you going to stand there all day exchanging niceties?" Sherlock asked in irritation.

"That was over quickly." John grumbled to himself and went to cook the eggs.

XXXXXX

The only time John had ever seen Sherlock in the kitchen was when he was doing an experiment. He hardly could ever be bothered to make tea, let alone an entire breakfast. If Sherlock had brought him breakfast in bed, he would have assumed Mrs. Hudson had made it. Then again it looked as if the breakfast was going a similar way to the beans from yesterday.

John hadn't meant to yell at Sherlock. It hadn't really been his fault. Yes he had distracted him but John could have stopped him (with some difficulty) or turned off the stove quickly. Or if he hadn't been so worried while making the tea, he might have noticed the beans burning before they caught fire. Sherlock had a way of distracting him even if they weren't touching.

And then even after having fought, he'd woken up to find Sherlock holding him close. He tried to make him breakfast for Christ's sake. John was starting to worry what this lack of cases was doing to Sherlock. He would call Lestrade later and ask him to pull Sherlock in on a case, maybe have him dress it up so Sherlock would be interested. Not that John minded having Sherlock all to himself. He just feared what this would do to the man.

John finished the eggs and put them on a plate. Sherlock seemed to have made the tea and toast without ruining anything else. John would never be able to understand how someone as clever as Sherlock was unable to multitask. John would have been annoyed with the gesture wasn't so surprisingly sweet. John considered apologizing about their fight the night before but pushed the thought away. Obviously this gesture of breakfast was either a way of saying sorry or to say everything was fine.

John put the plate of eggs, toast and tea onto a tray and carried it into the sitting room. John sat down on the sofa and was shocked when Sherlock cuddled in next to him. Sherlock had his arm around John, his head resting on John's shoulder and his hand placed on his arm. His legs were pulled up to his chest and John couldn't help thinking it looked terribly uncomfortable. And yet Sherlock didn't shift his body at all.

"You should eat." John said sipping his tea.

"I'm not hungry." Sherlock responded.

John sighed. Why couldn't the man just feed himself? It wasn't like it was that difficult a task. What harm could a piece of toast do? "You didn't eat anything last night."

Sherlock's body tensed up and John instantly regretted what he'd said. There was no point in mentioning the night before. They both knew why Sherlock hadn't eaten. The evidence was still sitting on the stove in a badly burned pan. John reminded himself to throw the whole thing out when he got a chance. Neither of them needed reminding of it. He would have done last night, but they both had gone to bed angry and it slipped his mind.

He had expected to sleep in his own bed, figuring Sherlock wouldn't want to see him. But as soon as John started climbing the stairs, Sherlock's hand had reached out and grabbed him. Without so much as a word, he had pulled John into his room and they'd fallen asleep together.

John stabbed a bit of egg with his fork then lifted it to Sherlock's mouth. "Please." He said, the one word dripping with concern.

Sherlock huffed in response but opened his mouth. John slid the fork in feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. They continued to share the eggs, Sherlock still not eating as much as John would have liked. One day, the man would waste away to nothing.

XXXXXX

Sherlock had pulled John back into bed the moment he had finished his breakfast. He lied down and pulled John to him, forming his mouth around his. He kissed John hungrily, his fingers resting on a pressure point on the back of his neck, where he could feel John's heartbeat. It had begun racing and Sherlock felt a sense of accomplishment.

John's lips broke away and slid down to Sherlock's throat. Sherlock begged them to come back. Even though he liked the feel of John kissing- then lightly biting- his throat, he wasn't done memorizing his mouth. He grabbed John by the front of his shirt and rolled them both so Sherlock was on top. John rested his arms over his head and Sherlock took it as a form of surrender. He ran his hands along John's arms until their hands met and their fingers intertwined.

Sherlock ran his tongue along John's teeth, needing to know every detail. 30 teeth, each one perfectly in line. John had had braces as a child. His tongue found John's, circling and pressing against each other. Sherlock could have kissed him forever, to have this moment frozen in time, if such a thing were possible. Their bodies pressed together, their kiss deep and intimate, and Sherlock ever so slightly holding John down, their hands clasped together. Everything about it was proof that John was indeed his.

_Not for long._ Sherlock pushed the thought from his mind, concentrating on sensory feelings instead. The warmth of John's body against his, they way he changed the pressure of his lips between hard and soft, the way his fingers gently rubbed Sherlock's knuckles, the feeling of him hardening. Suddenly Sherlock realized they were wearing entirely too much clothes. It was also time to request what had been plaguing his mind for some time now.

"John." He pulled away from the kiss and his voice caught in his throat a bit. "I wonder if I could, if you would allow me to…"

"Blimey." John said grinning. "A speechless Sherlock Holmes. Not something you see every day."

"John, this is rather difficult so I would appreciate a little empathy."

"Right, sorry." John quickly wiped the smile from his face. "What is it?"

"I'd like to have sex with you."

"Yes Sherlock, I gathered that. I may not be a consulting detective but I was able to glean that from the current situation." John replied snidely.

Sherlock closed his eyes. He was never one for getting embarrassed and yet he had no idea how to proceed. He could put it in simple terms but they would sound so vulgar, so foreign coming from his lips. He cleared his throat and prepared to try again. "I'd like to be the one to do the…penetration this time. Unless that would make you uncomfortable."

"No." John looked surprised by how quickly he answered. "I, I want you to."

"Good." Sherlock smiled.

XXXXXX

John was nervous. The thought of Sherlock inside him got him ridiculously excited but he was also anxious about it. His mind was considering all the different ways it could go wrong. It hadn't been a big deal, doing it to Sherlock. He'd once dated a girl who was only into anal sex. So he was more or less used to the concept, even if he had never done so on a man.

Besides, at the time he'd been so into the moment, he didn't have time to think about. Now as Sherlock's lips sucked at his neck, he couldn't seem to think about anything else than _Sherlock is going to fuck me. _

He trusted Sherlock, of course he did. And they had done this enough times that Sherlock should know exactly what to do. Still a mix of uneasiness and thrill were bubbling in his stomach. But this was what Sherlock wanted and John knew he wasn't strong enough to deny the man anything, that deep down he didn't want to.

He was kneeling on the bed, Sherlock positioned behind him, kneeling as well. John's legs were spread slightly, Sherlock's in between them. "John, I need you."

The words hung in the air and John waited for the penny to drop. "To talk me through it." Sherlock finished. Of course he hadn't been making some sort of declaration. Sherlock would never be the kind of sappy romantic sod who proclaimed his love. Not that John felt Sherlock loved him. Maybe they would get there, _someday, _or at least a vague notion of something similar.

The thought of talking Sherlock through sex was an intriguing one. It would be probably be the only time he'd ever be able to tell Sherlock what to do. "Grab the bottle off the nightstand." He instructed. The bed moved a little as Sherlock stretched to reach for the lube.

"Put some on your finger, enough that it's coated but not too much."

Sherlock followed what John said. John tried to breath but it was shaky. His whole body was trembling with anticipation and nerves.

"Now what?" Sherlock asked. John was fairly certain this next bit didn't need explaining but he went through it anyway.

"Put it in, slowly." He said preparing himself. He tried to relax, forcing himself to take deep breaths, counting along with each inhale and exhale. The first thing he felt was pain as Sherlock's finger went in. It lessened as his body got used to the feel.

"Another." He choked out when he could.

Sherlock obeyed, inserting another long, slippery finger into his arse. "Do you think you could handle another one?" Sherlock asked rather quickly after the second one had gone in and John closed his eyes. _He'd put his whole ruddy fist up my arse if I let him. _He thought, his breathing becoming erratic no matter what effort he put into steadying it.

As the third finger went in, John gripped the headboard of the bed. He could feel himself stretching, accommodating for Sherlock's fingers. Without provocation,

Sherlock began moving his fingers, slipping them further in and slightly back out. _Holy fuck, this man will be my undoing_, he thought as Sherlock's fingers found his prostate.

"Did I do something wrong?" Sherlock asked concerned.

John shook his head, unable to verbally respond. He forced himself to swallow. "I'm ready." He said hoping Sherlock would understand the full meaning of his words. John turned his head to see Sherlock and was met by Sherlock's lips finding his.

John felt the fingers leave and could hear Sherlock applying the lubricant to his cock. "Are you sure?" Sherlock's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes." John's voice was equally as quiet.

XXXXXXX

"Oh God, Sherlock." John moaned. "That feels, oh God."

Sherlock watched John's knuckles whiten as he gripped the headboard. Sherlock had his hands on John's hips, using them to anchor himself as he thrust into John. He'd gone slowly at first, knowing John's anus would not be used to the feel. John was still somewhat tight and Sherlock could feel himself throbbing inside him. He was inside him. The thought was a strange and beautiful one.

He could see the scratch marks on John's back from the other day on the sofa. He gently kissed them, hoping they didn't cause John any pain. It struck Sherlock how trusting John was to let him do this. Sherlock knew he was the first man to ever be inside John like this. _Why, John?_ He couldn't help asking himself. What was so special about him that John would make this kind of concession?

The answer was obvious but Sherlock didn't allow himself to think it. Instead he concentrated on memorizing everything. The sound of John's moans, the way it felt to be inside him, the muscles in his back. Sherlock moved his arm around John's waist, hold him there as his other hand went and covered John's. John held onto the bed and Sherlock held on to John.

Sherlock moved his hips faster, pushing himself as far into John as he could go. He was worried about hurting him, hoping John would speak up if anything was wrong. His hand trailed down John's stomach, from his bellybutton following the hair down. John was hard, so hard. Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John and felt the weight of it, the throbbing. He was busy trying to commit it to memory and had lost his rhythm. He forced himself to slide his hand back up to the safe spot of John's stomach. He forced everything else out, so his only thing in his brain was the feeling of being completely inside John.

A stream of obscenities spewed from John's mouth and the hand not covered by Sherlock's dropped down attempting to catch the emissions coming from his penis. The sight of John coming made Sherlock cum soon after. John tilted his head back and rested it against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock felt something wet on his cheek. He raised his hand and caught it on his finger, lifting it to his eye to study. The tear glistened in the sunlight coming from the window. He hadn't even realized he'd been crying but there was the evidence. He wiped the remaining tears from his face and in that moment he was glad John had his eyes closed. He couldn't let John see his weakness, his pain. He couldn't let John know this was their last day together.


	7. Chapter 7

It was obvious that John would never leave of his own volition. John was loyal, frustratingly so. John was also brave. He would never leave Sherlock, even if it meant he might be safe. John was a man of action, someone who craved danger. It meant he put his own well-being low on his priorities list. If given the choice to leave and be safe or stay and possibly die, Sherlock knew which one John would pick.

Especially now that they'd grown…close. Sherlock had somehow managed to put John in even more danger by becoming involved with him. Now he was forced to correct the situation. If John wouldn't leave, the only option would be the push him away.

It had to happen that night for two very specific reasons. He couldn't risk John getting any more attached than he already was. He also couldn't wake up next to John again, for fear he'd lose his nerve. _How badly I wish to keep you, John Watson, _Sherlock thought as he watched John milling about the kitchen getting the tea sorted.

"I think the last scraps of food in the flat were the eggs and toast we had this morning." John called from the kitchen. "Unless you're done with that hand and feel like frying it."

"I think we can forgo out bout into cannibalism and risk getting takeaway." Sherlock replied.

"Or better yet, why don't we go to Angelo's. I mean, might as well. It would save us some money."

"If that's what you'd like." Sherlock replied noncommittally.

"It's a date then." John smiled. The sight almost broke Sherlock's heart.

XXXXXX

John was in the shower, getting ready for their "date." He could feel his heart fluttering at the thought. They were actually going to venture out into the real world together like normal people. This could be their first step at establishing something real. Something more than purely physical stuff. Not that John minded it too much but he'd always hoped for more. This felt like a step in the right direction.

John hadn't heard Sherlock open the door to the bathroom, in fact he was only aware of his presence when their skin first had contact. The man could move like a ghost when he wanted to. John was all too aware of Sherlock now, nude with a single finger running along John's shoulder blades and down his spine.

John's head was covered in shampoo and Sherlock's hand ran through his hair, massaging his scalp. John leaned into him, enjoying the feel. He turned around and lifted his face to Sherlock's, pressing his lips to his. He could feel the water on his skin, the shampoo dripping down his back but at that moment all he concerned himself with was Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled away and grabbed the soap from its usual tray. He kissed John's shoulder and then ran the soap over the spot. He continued, slowly kissing and soaping John's front then turning him around and doing the same to his back. It was a blur of lips, hands and soap as John felt himself getting hard. He looked down and saw Sherlock was doing the same.

When his whole body had been soaped up, Sherlock's lips came back to John's and gently guided him under the water. Their lips mashed together, their tongues tangled as both breathed heavily. Their erections rubbed against each other's bodies, both groaning in delight at the way it felt. As the last bit of soap fell from his body, Sherlock reached over and turned off the water.

Their lips still attached, the stumbled and slipped out of the shower and made their way to the bed. They tumbled into it both on their sides, their lips never leaving each other. There was something different about the way Sherlock was kissing him. Their kisses had always been passionate and amazingly fucking hot but this time they were insistent, hungry.

John kissed down his neck, down his chest. Sherlock grabbed him roughly by the hair and pulled his face back up, devouring him in another kiss. Sherlock's hand shot out and started urgently stroking John's cock, making him moan. He bit down on Sherlock's bottom lip, feeling beyond aroused.

He kissed down Sherlock's chest again, this time not stopping. He sucked at the head of Sherlock's cock and then ran his tongue along it, feeling it throb against him. He began working his way down and back up, doing long pulls. Sherlock gripped John's hair tightly and pulled him off. "I don't want you like that." He said, his voice deep, gruff and pleading. "I want to cum inside you."

John nodded and moved back up the bed lying on his back and propped up on his elbows. Sherlock hooked his arm under John and pulled his leg up, tipping him slightly on his side, his hand resting on his chest. Then he pushed himself inside of him, his hand around him, holding onto his bicep. Sherlock began slowly rolling his hips as his lips found John's again.

Sherlock's hand trailed down John's chest and John arched his back, allowing Sherlock more access. Sherlock took it, moving slowly but going deeper until he found John's prostate. John flung his head back, crashing into the pillows. "Oh God. Yes Sherlock like that."

"You feel amazing." Sherlock panted into John's ear. "You're still so tight."

"You're fantastic." John said as Sherlock's lips began sucking his neck. "Cum inside me."

Sherlock took his time, not rushing anything. He did long, hard thrusts, finding John's prostate over and over. "You first." Sherlock said against his throat and his hand clasped around John's cock and began wanking him off, faster than his cock was going in his arse. John was still soaking wet from the shower making it easy for Sherlock's hand to slip up and down. "I can't cum until you do." Sherlock bit down playfully on John's neck. "Cum for me."

"Oh fuck." John yelled, his eyesight blurring around the edges as he spilled himself on Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock began moving faster, hips his picking up tempo. John, feeling somewhat impatient, reached down and slightly squeezed Sherlock's balls. Something like a roar escaped from Sherlock's lips and he emptied himself inside of John. John let his body collapse against the mattress and Sherlock relaxed himself against John, resting his chin on John's chest.

John reached up and brushed the curls from Sherlock's forehead. "God you scare me Sherlock." John said before pressing his lips to Sherlock's temple.

"I'm sorry, that was not my intention. I never wish to frighten you John."

"No, that came out all wrong." John said feeling all muddled. "I mean this scares me. How I feel about you scares me. Scares me to death. I don't think I've ever wanted someone as much as I want you. You have no idea how hard it is when I'm at the clinic and all I want is to be here with you. I keep thinking I'll wake up and find it was all a dream."

"John, I-"

"Because it has been a dream Sherlock. Truly it has. Oh god I'm babbling on like a prat. What I mean to say is—"

"Don't." Sherlock interrupted him, his eyes closed and his voice terse. "Please John. Just, don't."

"Ok." John nodded, stroking his fingers through Sherlock's curl. "I won't say it…yet."

XXXXXX

Sherlock noticed as they made their way to Angelo's that John was standing rather close. They'd walked side by side many times before but their shoulders rarely brushed together. Now they touched almost every other step. He also noticed John was walking a bit strange.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock inquired.

"Fine. My arse is just a bit sore from…" he trailed off, his cheeks going a dark shade of pink. "You know."

"My apologizes." Sherlock was unsure what a person should say in that situation.

"You should very formal all of a sudden." John pointed out.

They grew silent but John didn't move away, they shoulders still clashed together occasionally. Sherlock glanced over at John and noticed he was debating something. His brow was furrowed and his lips twitched as if he was having a quiet argument with himself.

Then without warning John's hand reached out and grasped Sherlock's. The feeling wasn't an unpleasant one but it was strange to say the least. Sherlock knew that for John this was some kind of statement. Their exploits had been all in private, now that they were public, John was "coming out of the closest" or something equally ridiculous. Their relationship was no one's business but their own. He didn't need to declare it to the world. But he knew this was important to John because he was gripping his hand in a determined fashion.

Sherlock felt a sort of heat radiating from his hand and seeping through his whole body. He realized it was some kind of happiness, filling him. A wide smile spread across his face and he risked a glance at John, the same look on his. Sherlock forced himself to look away, tried to ignore the sadness rapidly pushing out any joy he'd felt. He tried to make himself enjoy the moment and not think about what was to come but he couldn't. It was like there was a timer in his head, ticking away each second, reminding him that their time together was coming to an end.

They didn't drop their hands until it they were inside Angelo's and only because it made it easier to slide into their usual booth. Sherlock found himself wishing John would take his hand again but it was probably better that he didn't. John looked surprised when Sherlock grabbed a menu and began browsing.

"You're actually going to eat?"

"That was my thought, yes." He knew if he didn't, John would start an argument and that was the last thing Sherlock wanted. They'd be fighting soon enough.

"Good." John smiled and nodded approvingly. "I always feel awkward when I'm the only one eating."

"Why?" Sherlock asked still looking over the menu.

"You tend to stare. It makes me think I've got food in my teeth or something." John admitted.

"I'll try to refrain from staring in the future." This was a compliance he knew he could keep.

"I don't really mind." John shrugged and his tongue darted out and licked his lips.

"Hello!" Angelo said coming over to the table, candle in hand. "What can I get you?"

They gave their orders and exchanged a few pleasantries. Angelo told them it was on the house and then scurried off to put in their orders. Sherlock was glad to see him go, the clock in his mind counting down all the minutes he was wasting. The candlelight illuminated John's face, making him look impossibly beautiful, almost angelic. Sherlock's thoughts flickered to the first time they'd come here. How different things were now.

John mindlessly chattered away and Sherlock chimed in when the conversation needed it but mostly he just stared at John. His eyes scanned over every bit of him, drinking him in. It was going to be a long night and a test of his self-control. Every time John spoke, smiled or even breathed, Sherlock had the strongest urge to push off the contents of the table and have John right there.

"Sherlock?" John interrupted his thoughts. Sherlock did his best to ignore the tightening in his trousers.

"Yes?" Sherlock answered keeping his voice low and calm.

"You haven't heard a word I've said have you?" John asked only vaguely upset.

"My mind was somewhere else."

"Yeah, I'd noticed you staring at my mouth. Top marks for concentration." He joked sliding his hand under the table and patting Sherlock's knee. Sherlock jerked his leg away, afraid John might move his hand up and feel Sherlock's erection. John seemed startled by his actions and Sherlock hoped he wouldn't say anything. Luckily, he was saved by Angelo bringing them their food.

XXXXXXXX

"Feel like going down to the pub?" John asked, sure Sherlock would say no. He had no idea what had happened at dinner. He didn't think putting his hand on Sherlock's leg was enough to make him jumpy, after all they'd done a lot more. John had considered apologizing for it but then he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. He didn't see why he should be sorry for innocently touching Sherlock's leg.

After a few minutes of awkward silence and chewing their food, they fell into easy conversation. John was happy to put it behind them. And now, even though he would have loved to take Sherlock back to the flat and shag his brains out, he was enjoying being out in the world. They'd spent so much time cooped up, John liked taking Sherlock out.

"If you'd like." Sherlock replied sounding somewhat disinterested. John didn't read too much into it, he would take what he could get.

He led Sherlock over a few blocks to his favorite pub. Whenever he needed air or was annoyed with Sherlock, John would come here for a pint. He'd usually call Sarah from there, asking if he could crash at her flat. If she wasn't home, he'd have another pint and reluctantly return to 221B. He was always careful about how much he drank, limiting himself to two pints.

They stepped inside. It was a decent crowd but not too crazy. They were able to get their drinks fairly quickly and find a booth. Sherlock sipped his vodka and tonic, looking around at the people in the bar. John was sure he had probably figured out all their life stories already and he started to think this wasn't the best idea. He missed the more intimate setting of Angelo's, where John held Sherlock's full attention.

He slid his foot across the floor and gently nudged it against Sherlock's. Their eyes met for a moment and John smiled. Sherlock did not return it. "John?" someone called from across the pub and John pulled his foot away from Sherlock's. "John Watson!"

Peter, a friend from school walked over. John got up out of the booth so they could shake hands and say hello. "Gosh, it's been ages."

"It has. How have you been?" John asked politely.

Sherlock cleared his throat. He was standing right beside John even though he hadn't heard Sherlock get up out of the booth.

"Right, Peter this is my…friend, Sherlock Holmes." John wasn't quite sure what to call Sherlock. What were they exactly? Boyfriends? Lovers? Any time he said they were flatmate, people assumed they were together anyway. He certainly wasn't going to worry about what Peter thought they were.

"Hi there!" Peter said being friendly, probably already a few pints in.

"Hello." Sherlock said, being his usual cold and distant self that especially came out when he was forced to meet new people.

"So I heard you became a doctor of all things." Peter said turning his attention back to John.

"I did." John nodded. "Actually went into the army for awhile."

"Did you? Wow brilliant. Hard to imagine you as a solider though."

"Why is that?" Sherlock interjected. He almost sounded…defensive.

"Well I mean look at him in his cozy little jumper. It doesn't exactly scream military, does it?"

"John Watson not only went to war but was injured during combat. He came home a hero, which is more than I can say for a witless moron who still lives with his mother and spends more than sixteen hours a day playing video games."

"Right." Peter said looking down at his feet. "I should probably get going. Nice seeing you John."

"You too." John said giving him an apologetic look.

John got back into the booth and started chugging his lager. "You're upset."

John slammed his glass against the table. "Brilliant deduction Sherlock, really. You shouldn't have done that."

"The way he was speaking to you—"

"I don't give a toss what Peter thinks of me. For fuck's sake he used to come to school with his mouth pasted shut! You didn't need to destroy the poor bloke just because he made a comment about my jumper."

"He wasn't making a comment about your jumper, he was making a comment about you." Sherlock growled angrily.

"So what if he was? I'm not like you Sherlock, I don't need little ego boosts from the people around me. I know who I am and I'm proud of what I've done. I don't need validation from other people."

Sherlock looked away and for a few moments they both stewed in their own anger. John thought about apologizing yet again, knowing Sherlock would never be the one to. But he was sick of apologizing. Being with Sherlock was like being with the most intelligent yet insolent child ever. John was tired of being the one to back down.

"We shouldn't have come here, it was a mistake." He said, able to admit that.

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Look, just for the future, I don't need you to fight my battles for me."

"Why don't I update you on what I don't need. I don't need you putting me on a lease like I'm some wild dog. I don't need you to make sure I'm fed and I certainly don't need you touching me under the table." Sherlock yelled. John was thankful for the noise in the pub, hoping people wouldn't hear their spat.

John went to say something but Sherlock was already out of the booth and halfway to the door before he could think of what to say. He put his head down on the table and sighed. He'd botched that up real well. Now the only thing was to get sloshed before being forced to return home.

XXXXXXX

Sherlock sat in his chair, awaiting John's return to the flat. It wasn't long before John stumbled in. He'd been drinking but wasn't intoxicated. He would remember their conversation.

"John, I believe we need to have a discussion." Sherlock said, his eyes cold and distant. This would have to be a very convincing performance. Even though he was annoyed with what John had said back at the pub, it wasn't enough to make this real on Sherlock's end. But it would make it extra convincing for John.

"In the morning Sherlock." John said brushing him off.

"Now John." Sherlock said, his voice insistent.

"Look, I'm sorry about what happened at the pub. You didn't have to take off like that though."

"It's not about that. There are certain things we need to discuss."

"That sounds dangerously similar to 'we need to talk'."

"I'm unfamiliar with that phrase."

"It's something people say when they're getting ready to break up with someone." John informed him. Sherlock's eyes drifted down to the floor, unable to look John in the eye. "Oh God." John said understanding.

"I'm sorry John, but this isn't working." Sherlock's tone was calm and collected. Indifferent.

"No." John shook his head defiantly. He stumbled forward slightly and gripped the chair in front of him. It was a mixture of the alcohol in his system and his disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"I've reached the decision that this…relationship we've been having is no longer conducive."

"Jesus Christ Sherlock will you stop sitting there like you're the bank teller informing me I no longer have an account."

"How would you like me to behave John?" Sherlock asked pressing his palms together, resting his finger against his chin.

"Well, you can stop treating me like I'm a bloody stranger." John looked like a puppy that had been kicked. Sherlock bit his tongue, forcing himself not to react. Not to take it all back.

"I want to know why." John demanded. "I want to know why out of the blue you're suddenly ending things."

"I wouldn't call it out of the blue." Sherlock said, doing his best to stay calm. He couldn't back down now. _This is something you have to do if you want him safe, _he reminded himself. "I've been thinking this over for awhile now."

"Those three days." John said, it finally dawning on him. "That's what you were considering? You said it didn't concern me."

"It didn't." Sherlock shrugged his shoulders.

John laughed, the sound strange and bitter. "Doesn't concern me? You breaking things off bloody well concerns me."

"There was nothing you could do to stop it, so why bother?"

"Fine." John said through gritted teeth. "Then I need a reason. A bloody fantastic reason as to why you're doing this after everything that's happened between us."

"And what's happened between us?" Sherlock asked, meeting his gaze, his eyes piercing. "Did you think things had changed because we started having intercourse?"

"No because that would be ridiculous of me." John's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"It would." Sherlock agreed.

"Yes because only an idiot would think that shagging your flatmate made a god damn difference in your relationship."

"You can shout all you want, you're not going to change my mind."

"You still haven't told me why." John was seething. It was good, meant things were going according to plan.

"Because you've domesticated me. You've got me making eggs, going to pubs, having sex when I should be doing more important things." Sherlock made his voice sound disgusted.

"More important things, right." John bit his bottom lip angrily. He huffed out a breath and turned his face away.

It wasn't enough. John was merely angry. Sherlock needed John to hate him. He needed to make sure John had no reason to come back. No glimmer of hope. "Did you think it would last?" _Just a bit longer_, he told himself. "Did you think someone as mundane and ordinary as you could hold my attention? If a decent case or even a hint of Moriarty had come up, I would have been out the door mid-coitus."

"So that's all I was to you then? A distraction? Something to keep you from being bored?" John asked looking livid.

"Of course. What were you supposed to be to me?" Sherlock asked blinking a few times, making sure he seemed as uncaring as possible.

"Nothing." John swallowed hard. Sherlock could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes and did his best not to react. "I guess in order for me to mean something you'd actually have to be a person with feelings. Which you're not you complete wanker."

Sherlock looked away. He tried to remind himself that this was what he wanted, this was necessary. John was only speaking out of anger. It didn't keep his words from stinging.

XXXXX

John felt like he'd been hit by a truck or a bus, something large and heavy. Sherlock was breaking things off. Not only that but he was confirming every fear John had ever had about their relationship. He struggled to swallow around his heart, which had relocated to his throat. Every word Sherlock said was like a dagger piercing him.

_Don't cry in front of him, don't cry in front of him, fuck. _John couldn't help the hot, stinging tears that appeared. He tried to blink them away, feeling completely pathetic.

So this was how it all ended, with Sherlock looking at him like he couldn't give two shits. Everyone had warned him, told him to stay away from Sherlock Holmes. He should have listened. But even their warnings couldn't have prepared him for this. He was spitting angry words at Sherlock, not even sure what he was saying. Sherlock looked down at the floor and John was happy that something struck a cord. At least he could cause Sherlock one tiny bit of pain compared to what he was feeling.

He clenched his fists, seriously considering punching Sherlock in his perfect face. Instead he swallowed again, this time it was slightly easier and stormed out of the room. He went upstairs, taking them two at a time. He wanted to be out of the flat as soon as possible and began packing as much as he could into two suitcases. He let the tears flow more easily now that Sherlock wasn't around to see them.

XXXXXXXX

Sherlock closed his eyes and listened to the sound of John upstairs packing his things. Sherlock memorized the sound of John's feet shuffling around, the angry way he opened and shut drawers. He knew he would not hear them for a painfully long time, possibly ever again. Even if he did manage to kill Moriarty and make it safe for John to come back, there was no reason why he would now.

No, John would move on. He would meet someone nice, someone dull like Sarah. They'd get married and have kids, follow every cliché imaginable. John would never mention his torrid homosexual love affair with his flatmate. Sherlock wished he could save him from that boring life. Yet the awful, painful truth was that the choices were a boring life or no life at all. Sherlock would choose a boring life for his friend, every time.

John lumbered down the stairs with two suitcases. He was very careful not to meet Sherlock's gaze. "I'll let you know when I can come round and pick up the rest of my things."

John's cheeks were streaked with tears even though he'd tried to wipe them away. Sherlock felt an almost unbearable pain in his chest. _Oh John Watson, you beautiful idiot, how can you not know this isn't real? _Sherlock thought as he suffered in silence. All he could do was nod, not trusting himself to speak.

"I'd prefer it if you weren't here when I do so. I'll leave my key here when I'm done."

John stood in the doorway for a second as if he was waiting for Sherlock to say something. Maybe he was expecting a goodbye or he could have been hoping Sherlock would change his mind. When he remained silent, John turned to leave.

"Where will you go?" Sherlock asked before he could stop himself. At least the words came out aloof, as if he was just being polite instead of actually caring.

"That's really not your _concern._" The last word was loaded with such disdain. John picked up his suitcases and with that he was gone. Sherlock could hear John knock on Mrs. Hudson's door and say goodbye. She tried to be her usual reassuring self and told him the two of them would work it out. John replied that he didn't think so.

When he heard the front door close, Sherlock got up and went to the window. John had put his suitcases down and was trying to hail a cab. When one finally pulled up, John climbed in without so much as a glance back. Sherlock couldn't pull himself away until the cab had rounded the corner and disappeared. He flung himself onto the sofa and curled into a ball, feeling more miserable than he ever had in his life. He kept reminding himself that now John was safe and that it was all that mattered. But the pain in his chest continued to grow, telling him otherwise.

The pink phone dinged and Sherlock considered ignoring it. Moriarty had no doubt seen the whole thing but it didn't matter if he thought it was real or fake. John was out of the picture like Jim had wanted. Still he couldn't help himself from reaching for the phone.

_Marvelous performance. Bravo! _

Sherlock angrily flung the phone across the room. As if it was taunting him, it landed delicately on John's chair. Moriarty had won. It didn't matter if Sherlock found him or killed him. Moriarty won the moment John got into that cab. With the knowledge of defeat, he hugged his knees to his chest and couldn't stop the stream of silent tears the fell.


	8. Chapter 8

"John, are you here love?" Harry asked as she walked into the apartment.

_Of course I'm here, I'm always here. _John thought bitterly. The only time he ever seemed to get out of Harry's flat was when he went to work. He hadn't had a lot of options after leaving Sherlock's that night. He had a decent amount of friends but none of them were the sort you called up randomly and asked if you could stay at their flat for an indefinite period of time. He thought about calling Sarah but decided against it. They had been amiable towards each other but things were still somewhat weird since John broke it off. She said she understood but their energy had been different lately.

"Yeah, I'm here." John called back, not moving from his spot on the sofa. He was watching some rubbish program on BBC3 and he hadn't even been paying attention. But every time the studio audience laughed, it felt like they were laughing at John through the TV.

_Stop thinking about him you stupid git. _John had been mulling over what had happened with Sherlock. It was like his brain was constantly showing it on repeat. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, wishing he could rub the images out. It had been three weeks but he could still picture everything so vividly. Sherlock's hand in his hair, Sherlock's lips finding his, the feel of his

_No! Stop!_ He cut his brain off in an attempt to quit torturing himself.

Harry walked into the room carrying two large grocery bags. She set them down on the coffee table and flopped down on the sofa next to John. "How are you?" she asked resting her head on his shoulder.

"I'm fine."

"Liar." She said playfully pinching his cheek. "I can always tell."

"What's in the bag?" he asked changing the subject.

"In these bags," Harry said as if she was the announcer on a game show. "We have the bad break up survival kit. Behold!"

She pulled out two pints of ice cream and handed one to John. "Harry, I'm not a teenager. I don't need ice cream and comfort food." John said as she dropped a packet of crisps into his lap.

"John, listen to my wisdom. You need to deal with this in any way you can. It's not going to disappear. It's going to feel like shit for a long time. Any little bit helps."

John put his hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I feel so stupid."

"Oi, stop that." She said reaching up and removing his hand, holding it between her own. "Falling in love is never stupid. It's painful and wonderful and often times scary as hell. But it should never be something you regret, never. Do you think I regret falling in love with Clara even though things didn't work out?"

"No?" John guessed.

"Of course not. Someone loved me and I loved them. The amount of time spent loving each other is irrelevant because there's nothing in this world quite like it. And I mean, how often do you get to feel it, eh? How often do you fall madly in love? You should never regret that feeling, I don't care what comes after it."

"When did you get so smart?" John asked seeing his sister in a whole new light.

"I've always been this smart, you've just never needed my particular expertise before. You know about anatomy or whatever that rubbish is that doctors need to know. I know about relationships having had a fair few of them in my time."

"What do I do now Harry?" John asked feeling helpless.

"Now, you tuck into an alarming amount of ice cream and drown your sorrows with alcohol." She reached into the other bag and pulled out a bottle of red wine.

"That sounds surprisingly good." John admitted. He felt strange about drinking with Harry, it was wrong of him to be enabling her. But the truth was he needed it. He needed to get pissed and forget about Sherlock, at least for a while.

John opened his bag of crisps while Harry flitted off to the kitchen to get some wine glasses. "Why are you being so nice to me?" he yelled so she could hear him.

"Because right now you're in distress. I can hardly turn you away in your hour of need, can I?" she walked back into the room, both glasses full to the brim. She carefully placed one in front of John and began sipping her own.

"But I've hardly been there for you. I mean with you and Clara getting divorced. I should have been doing this kind of thing for you, or at least been more supportive."

"Don't worry about it love." She said waving it off. "I've had my heart broken many times. I'm an expert at dealing with it. Besides, you were busy switching teams."

She chuckled and John couldn't help joining in. "I'm not even sure I have switched teams." John confessed.

"Honey, you've had sex with a man. Doesn't get any gayer than that."

They fell into another fit of giggles. "I suppose it doesn't. How come we don't get on like this all the time?" he asked, surprised by how much he was enjoying himself.

"Because right now you're being agreeable. Normally you're a stubbornly infuriating tosser."

"Thank you for that." He rolled his eyes.

"I know I'm the same way. That's why we don't get on. We're too similar. Also becoming a doctor has given you this annoying need to fix people even if they don't want it."

"Maybe that's what I did wrong with Sherlock." John said contemplating it as he sipped his ridiculously large glass of wine. "Maybe he thought I was trying to fix him."

"No, no, no, don't do that." She warned. "Don't analyze every little thing trying to figure out what went wrong, you'll drive yourself mad."

"So what do I do instead?"

"I suggest you down that glass quickly and we'll get you another one."

XXXXXX

"My god John, your break up is going to be the death of me." Harry said stumbling into the kitchen the next morning with a massive hangover. John had one to match. He'd already had three glasses of water and taken some aspirin. He put two more aspirin on the counter and filled a glass from the tap.

"If you puked on my couch I will kill you." She said downing the pills and then sipping the water.

"I didn't." John informed her, rubbing his eyes.

"Good." She nodded approvingly. "John, I think we need to talk about some things."

"Like what?" John asked, his head still feeling like it might explode. "Can't it wait?"

"No." Harry shook her head looking like she really didn't want to have this conversation. She sat at one of the kitchen table chairs and John sat across from her. "It's been three weeks John and you're still sleeping on the couch. I fixed up the guest room for you weeks ago. You're still living out of suitcases."

"If you want me to start looking for a new apartment I can." He said not sure what she was getting at. Was she asking him to move out?

"No, I think you need to start considering this the place where you live."

"I do." John was still confused about what she meant.

"No you don't." Harry gave him a small smile and rested her hand over his. "We still haven't gotten the rest of your stuff out of Baker Street. I think it's because you don't want to. Same reason you're sleeping on the couch."

"I know." John sighed. "You're right As long as I'm sleeping on the couch and all my things are still there, I can pretend it was just a fight. That at some point I'll get to go home."

"Love, you're making it harder for yourself to move on. You're never going to get closure as long as you're still holding on to that place."

"How can I say goodbye to it Harry? How can I leave a place that felt like home?"

"Are you sure it's the flat you don't want to leave?" Harry asked knowingly. "It seems like you're still hoping he'll change his mind."

"Of course I'm not." John lied and he knew Harry was aware he was lying. But it was a lie he needed to tell himself.

"It's been three weeks, soon it's going to be a month. This is how things are now and you need to accept it." She gave his hand a little squeeze, trying to be supportive.

"You're right." He nodded and closed his eyes, trying to come to grips with what this would mean. "It's time."

XXXXXX

"Well shit." Harry said as the cab pulled up next to 221B. John's stomach had twisted itself into knots. He'd had Harry call and inform Sherlock they were coming to get John's things. He'd made her ask Sherlock to be out of the flat between two and four so they could get his stuff packed together. He could only hope Sherlock would be kind enough to honor his wishes.

"How did you ever afford such a nice flat in the middle of London?" Harry asked handing the driver a bill and stepping out of the cab.

"Sherlock knows the landlady, Mrs. Hudson. She gave us a good deal."

"Clearly." She said in awe as John put his key in the front door and they stepped inside. She went quickly up the stairs as if she was looking at the flat for herself, not moving someone out of it. John followed her, taking the stairs slowly. He put his hand on the rail and looked around, wanting to remember everything.

"Oh." Harry said when she opened the door.

"You must be Harry Watson." John heard Sherlock's deep baritone from inside the flat. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of dread that filled him.

"Yes, yes I am." Harry replied sounding slightly daunted. "I'm sorry, we thought the flat would be empty."

"I thought I might lend a hand."

John took a deep breath and walked into the flat. _Fuck, _John thought the moment he saw Sherlock, his breath catching a little. The man looked even more impossibly gorgeous than he remembered. He was wearing a dark suit with a dark purple shit that was quite tight across the chest, pulling at the buttons. There was a pang in John's chest and he forced himself to look away.

"John." Sherlock said and John was surprised the man even bothered to acknowledge his presence.

"Sherlock." John replied, biting his tongue and forcing himself not to say or do anything else.

"You've been sleeping on the couch." Sherlock said and John turned, as difficult as it was, to face him. Sherlock's eyes were examining him and John tried to not react.

"Is this that thing that you do?" Harry asked. "Inception or what ever it's called."

"Deduction." John and Sherlock corrected her together.

"Right." Harry nodded, looking from John to Sherlock as if she wasn't sure what to do next.

"Harry, why don't you go get started, I need to speak with Sherlock for a moment." John said. Harry looked skeptical and John gave her a slight nod so she knew it was fine. She made her way upstairs and John swallowed, uncertain about being alone with Sherlock.

"Yes John?" Sherlock asked when Harry was out of the room.

"What the hell are you doing here?" John asked furious.

"I live here." Sherlock blinked at John as if this were obvious.

"I know—" John took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "I specifically asked you not to be here."

"Why should I have to vacate my flat for the afternoon?" Sherlock asked indignantly.

"Do you have any idea how difficult this is for me? I know asking you to understand human emotion is asking a lot but even you have to get how hard this was going to be even without you here."

"I didn't realize."

"No, of course you didn't." John said aggravated. "If you insist on staying just keep out of the way, yeah?"

"If that's what you would prefer." Sherlock said being strangely compliant.

"It is."

When he got upstairs, Harry was putting his things into boxes. His dresser was already empty but since everything was already folded, it had probably been easy to put everything away. He got started clearing off his bedside table.

"Are you ok?" Harry asked breaking the silence.

"Yeah." He said, his face pinching in irritation. He just wanted it to be over and done with as quickly as possible.

"I can see why you fell for him, he's fucking beautiful."

"Harry—" John really didn't want to discuss it.

"I mean damn, if I had been living here I would have seriously considered rethinking my sexuality."

"Harry, please." John tried again.

"Right, shutting up now." She said going back to packing.

` John concentrated on getting his room packed up when he heard the violin coming from downstairs. Whatever Sherlock was playing was slow and melancholy. John wasn't familiar enough with classic music to be able to name it. A rush of memories flooded over him but he put up a wall trying to keep them at bay. But with each depressing note another one slipped through.

"Oh God, the bed smells like sex." Harry said interrupting his thoughts. "Sweaty man sex. You dirty slag, I had no idea."

She flung a pillow at him and he smiled in spite of himself.

"I have no idea how you didn't go crazy living here. I mean that mess downstairs. I would have thought it would drive you insane."

"It's gotten worse since I've left." He said thinking it over. The entire place had been covered with papers and it looked like Sherlock had begun doing his experiments wherever it suited him. John tried not to be too concerned by it, after all he didn't live there anymore. Sherlock could burn the whole bloody place down if he wanted.

John went to his closet and grabbed his hammer and began prying up the floorboards. "What the fuck are you doing?" harry asked surprised.

"I just need to get something." John explained. He wasn't entirely surprised to find the gun was gone when he had finished. Sherlock had had three weeks to find it. It was clear from the state of things that he'd had some free time.

"What's going on?" Harry asked puzzled as John hurried from the room.

"Where is it?" John demanded, confronting Sherlock.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked putting down his violin.

"Don't give me that. Where's the gun Sherlock?"

"I imagine it's where you hid it." Sherlock shrugged, feigning innocence.

"Cut the shit." John said reaching forward and grabbing Sherlock by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "If you think I'm leaving you with a loaded gun and no one to reign you in, you're insane."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment and then his eyes went to where John's hands were gripping him. "Sorry." John said removing them.

"Mrs. Hudson took your gun away from me. If you want it back you'll have to ask her." Sherlock said fixing his suit where John had rumpled it. "I'm sure it's hidden away with my skull."

"Thank you." John said grateful that Mrs. Hudson was so sensible. Then again she probably just didn't like Sherlock using her wall as target practice.

XXXXXX

It didn't take long for them to finish packing up John's things. He had retrieved the gun from Mrs. Hudson and it was tucked away in a box with his jumpers. They had played tetris with the boxes, trying to find a way to get all of them to fit into one cab. They'd finally found a way to get them all in, fitting their bodies around them with some difficulty.

John and Sherlock's goodbye had been short and awkward. John had put out his hand telling Sherlock to take care of himself. Sherlock had been hesitant and for a moment John had thought Sherlock really wasn't going to shake his hand. But then Sherlock's hand had clasped John's and they shook. Sherlock told John to do the same.

"Goodbye Sherlock." John said dropping his hand and following Harry out of the flat.

Now he was wondering if he should have said something else. He didn't know what he could have possibly said but it felt like there should have been something. A word or phrase that would have given it finality. Nothing came to mind but the feeling remained.

When Harry and John finished moving John into the guest bedroom, they sat on the sofa with some tea and watched some telly. John thought he would feel different after moving out of 221B Baker Street. Instead he felt the same way he always had, miserable. It was going to be a very long time before anything felt fine.


	9. Chapter 9

_This was a mistake,_ Sherlock realized too late. He hadn't been able to resist seeing John one last time. John had asked him to be gone for the afternoon but how could he? Admittedly, seeing John moving his things out of their flat was a new and painful form of torture that Sherlock forced himself to sit through. Even though it was difficult to see John, it was nothing compared to the three weeks he had been away.

Sherlock's mental state had been deteriorating over those weeks. Every waking moment was spent in search of Moriarty. Since he'd limited his sleep to three hours a night, there was a lot of time dedicated to the search. When Sherlock did sleep, it was always in John's bed. He found himself unable to sleep in his own. Occasionally he'd pass out on the couch from exhaustion.

He'd been hassling Lestrade, getting all his case files and looking for anything that seemed like Moriarty's style. So far nothing had panned out. The pink phone had also been silent since that night John left. It was Moriarty's way of gloating. He was no doubt watching Sherlock obsessing over it and was enjoying himself.

Sherlock had wanted to find Moriarty since the five pips incident. This was different though. This wasn't about proving who was better or more intelligent. The stakes were higher now. Sherlock wanted to believe Moriarty would leave John alone but he doubted things would ever be that simple. There was also a small glimmer of hope that if he could kill Moriarty, John would come back to him. He would explain everything and John would come back. John had to come back because John loved him. He'd been about to say it when Sherlock had stopped him. That's what Sherlock held onto as he grew more and more frustrated and slipped further into madness.

He'd been sure to make himself look presentable for when Harry and John showed up. He couldn't let John see how much his absence was affecting him. As far as John was concerned, Sherlock didn't want him around. So he'd showered and put on a suit, finally taking off the dressing gown that he was used to adorning lately.

More acting, more pretending he didn't care. John was yelling at him for being there. Why did John have to look so attractive when he was angry? Sherlock kept his face still as if it were made out of stone. It wouldn't always be like this. He just had to find the right clue, the right step to lead him to Moriarty. Then John could come home, to him. He just had to think, he just had to wait for Moriarty to make a mistake.

When John had slipped away to his room, Sherlock couldn't help quietly ascending the stairs and listening in on their conversation. Harry was calling Sherlock attractive. The corner of his mouth twitched, amused by what she was saying. John was begging her to stop and they grew silent. Sherlock returned downstairs, making his footsteps as soft as possible as he went.

Sherlock grabbed his violin and sat down in his chair. He began playing Handel's Concerto Grosso in F Major. It was the perfect way to express his melancholia while thinking things over. John was in pain, every bit of him showed it. John had never been very good at masking how he felt, at least not from someone who was truly looking. And Sherlock was definitely paying attention.

John had been sleeping on the sofa for the past three weeks. It was obvious from the way he held himself, adjusting his back to compensate for the pain. His neck was stiff from the odd angle of the sofa's arm. Why would he sleep on the sofa? Harry was obviously well off, she'd given John an expensive phone as if it was nothing. She would most certainly have a guest room. So why was John sleeping on the sofa?

Sherlock dealt with facts, people's motivations often escaped him. Why John? Why the sofa? Was he planning on finding a place of his own? Maybe he had not moved into the guest room because he was staying at Harry's on a purely temporary basis. Emotions, people's feelings, they were so hard to deduce. People rarely behaved logically. Why should John Watson be any different?

He heard John's footsteps on the stairs and Sherlock mentally prepared himself. John was asking about the gun. Yes Sherlock had spent one particularly aggravating afternoon searching for that blasted thing. He'd noticed some of the floorboards had been recently disturbed and emerged victorious with John's gun. Mrs. Hudson had confiscated it the next day. Sherlock was secretly glad, afraid of what he might do with it if he had it for too long.

John was touching him. Sherlock had to really struggle not to react. He looked over and watched the way John's strong hands gripped him. John, noticing Sherlock's staring, removed them and Sherlock calmly fixed his suit. He informed John that Mrs. Hudson had his gun, afraid John might touch him again. He was scared he wouldn't be able to stop himself from doing something he shouldn't.

Much too soon after, John and Harry were preparing to leave. Harry and Sherlock said goodbye and then it was just Sherlock and John. John held out his hand, ever the gentlemen, to say his farewell. Sherlock stared at it, thinking how easy it would be to grab hold of it and pull John in for a kiss. God how Sherlock's body ached, each bit of it wishing to touch John.

Instead he shook his hand, forcing himself to let John go. His mind was shouting the exact opposite. _Don't let him go. Ask him to stay. Tell him what he wants to hear. Tell him the truth. Say something you bloody fool. _

Sherlock watched from the window as John attempted to get all of his things into the cab. There was still time to run down and stop him from leaving. To tell him it had all been a mistake. But he couldn't do that. _Think of someone else for once in your miserable life. _If John stayed that meant John died. Sherlock needed John to be secure until he could make it safe for him to come home.

XXXXXXX

Sherlock was making his way home from a fairly disappointing lead. A man had faked his death to get out of paying his taxes. The man had taken some of his mother's ashes, sprinkled them in his car and then set the car on fire. It was sloppy and amateur and definitely not Moriarty.

It was dusk already and Sherlock was preparing himself for another night spent in front of his laptop. He was in the cab, on his way to Baker Street when the pink phone dinged. After nearly a month of silence, Moriarty was finally reaching out, but why? His hands shook in anticipation as he looked at the message. It was an address, one Sherlock didn't recognize which was odd. He quickly told the driver to change course and looked up the address on his phone.

71 Great Titchfield Street. It was the address of an Italian restaurant called Bellaria that was surprisingly close to Baker Street. He had no idea why Moriarty would want him to go there. He doubted it was to enjoy a romantic evening together like their website was inviting him to do. The restaurant would no doubt be crowded, making it unlikely Moriarty would try anything. What could possibly be his reasons for sending Sherlock there?

Sherlock was tentative as he stepped from the cab. Part of him wondered if Jim had gotten fed up and planned to shoot him dead on the spot. He didn't see any red dots on his body so he assumed that was not the case. Still there was no reason to believe this wasn't some kind of trap. He walked through the front door of the restaurant, unsure what to expect.

It was a nice Italian restaurant, quiet and intimate. He ignored the hostess and looked around for why Moriarty had sent him there. The moment he spotted the reason, his entire body froze. John was there, sitting in the corner looking very much like he was on a date. The woman sitting across from him had her back to Sherlock so he didn't know who she was. It wasn't Sarah, the hair color was wrong. It was a sort of dirty blond that reached to the middle of her back.

Sherlock told his body to leave the situation immediately but it didn't listen. Then it was too late as John's eyes lifted and met Sherlock's. John said something to his date and got up from his seat. Sherlock told his body to turn, to flee quickly but again it ignored him. He was frozen in what he imagined was terror, which was a new and bizarre feeling.

"Sherlock, what the hell are you doing here?" John asked looking angry.

"I—" Sherlock began but couldn't even get a word in.

"Are you following me?" John demanded to know.

"Of course not."

"Then how come out of all the restaurants in London, you just happen to walk into the one I'm eating at?"

"On your…date?" Sherlock asked revolted.

"No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to come in here and act jealous as if you actually give a toss about me."

Sherlock looked away. He had completely forgotten he was supposed to be feigning indifference towards John. This wasn't exactly helping. He just couldn't stand the sight of John on a date with someone else. He'd been so caught up in the fantasy of making everything all right for John to come home; he'd never thought that John might find someone new. He had to pull himself together.

"For your information, I have not been following you." Sherlock reached into his coat and pulled out the pink phone. "I received a text from Moriarty with this address and felt I should investigate. I had no idea you would be here."

Sherlock held the phone out so John could read the text and confirm his story. Sherlock could only hope John wouldn't ask too many questions.

"Why would Moriarty want you to come here?" he asked furrowing his brow.

"I have no idea since I only just arrived." Sherlock replied, putting his phone back in his coat pocket. It was a lie of course. He knew exactly why Moriarty had sent him here, to see John happily out on a date. Jim wanted to rub it in his face.

"Sherlock, we need to get everyone out of here fast." John said looking around for the best way to achieve this.

"Why?"

"Have you forgotten Moriarty has a fondness for blowing things up? He obviously knew I was here and then lured you here to have us both in the same place at once. The whole restaurant could come crashing down any minute."

"Don't be ridiculous John, there are easier ways to get the two of us together without resorting to blowing up an entire restaurant." Sherlock said trying to keep John from causing a scene. The last thing he needed was John yelling at everyone to get out before they were blown to bits.

"But why—"

"John, is everything alright?" his date asked joining them.

"No actually—"

"—Sherlock Holmes." He introduced himself, extending his hand courteously.

"Oh wow, _the_ Sherlock Holmes." The woman said shaking it. "John was just telling me about you and what you do."

"Was he?" Sherlock glanced at John, who had gone slightly red.

"Why don't you come and join us for a bit?"

"Actually Sherlock's on a case so he—"

"—I could spare a few minutes." Sherlock cut John off and followed his date back to their table. Sherlock grabbed an unoccupied seat from another table and sat.

"I'm Mary, by the way." She said as she sat back down.

"Pleasure."

"So John says you can tell things about people from their phones and tanlines." Mary said twirling her pasta around her fork.

"I can, yes." Sherlock nodded, raising an eyebrow at John.

"And what can you tell about me?" she asked giving him a small smile.

Sherlock leaned in and studied her for a moment. "You're a student."

"Well done, how did you know?"

"You're make-up."

"What about it?"

"It's for a girl half your age. Most women try to bring the age down a few years, you're trying to cut yours in half. It means you spend a fair amount of time with people around seventeen. If you were a teacher you would wear age appropriate make-up, trying to show your authority. No, you're trying to blend in. That coupled with the highlighter marks on your hand that you've neglected to wash off tell me you're a student."

"Sherlock—" John said looking uneasy.

"No it's fine John, I asked. You're right, I'm currently a paralegal. I'm taking night classes trying to get my law degree."

Sherlock noticed her touch her ring finger and then put her hand back on the table. "How long were you married for?"

"How did you…?"

"Your finger is slightly discolored where you once wore a ring. The skin is also slightly wrinkled, telling me you wore it for a long time, years in fact. It's been recently removed, not long enough for it to match the color of the rest of your finger. Recently divorced, correct?"

"Yes." Mary nodded.

"Sherlock." John said through gritted teeth, his voice harsh.

"Of course. You reached for the ring, probably to play with it. You'd forgotten it wasn't there anymore, so the divorce is quite recent. I'd say within the last few months. If your husband had died you would still be wearing the ring for sentiment. Did you end things or did he? I'm guessing you did or else you wouldn't be out dating already."

"Right, that's it." John said standing up. He grabbed Sherlock by the lapels and dragged him from the table.

"John, I really don't mind." Mary said.

"I'll be back in a minute." John called over his shoulder.

Sherlock stumbled along next to John, who had a very firm grip on the front of his coat. "Is everything all right?" The hostess asked as they passed.

"It's fine." John growled as he shoved Sherlock out the front door of the restaurant.

"Is that really necessary John?" Sherlock asked, pushing him off and fixing his coat.

"You complete and utter twat." John's face was going a deep red and if he had been a cartoon there would have been smoke coming from his ears. "I knew Mary was divorced. It was the reason Harry though we would get on, because we'd both recently gotten out of relationships. You didn't need to tear her down like that."

"She asked, I was simply being compliant."

"You were being rude." John corrected. "Even by your usual standards."

"I didn't mention anything she didn't already know."

"You didn't have to say it though, did you?" John ran his hand through his hair and took a few breaths. Sherlock was silent, unsure what to do next. It seemed that every time they met, John was upset with him. John sighed and leaned his back against the building. "I don't know why you seem to have a personal vendetta against my being happy."

_I don't want it to be with anyone but me, _Sherlock thought immediately but kept still. "And is Mary the person who is going to make you happy?" Sherlock allowed himself to ask.

"I don't know." John huffed in frustration. "She could be. I could marry her and have kids, live a normal life."

"Sounds dull." Sherlock frowned in disgust.

"For fuck's sake, it's a first date, one I didn't even want to go on. Harry talked me into it, insisting that I start moving on. I think she just wanted to get me out of the flat and I have… no idea why I'm telling you all this."

"Well, before anything else we were friends." Sherlock reminded him.

"I do miss that." John confessed and Sherlock felt his stomach twist. "Damn it Sherlock you confuse the hell out of me. You don't want me but you don't want me to be with anyone else. One minute your acting like you don't give a toss about me and the next you're trying to make my dates cry. I wish you would just make up your bloody mind."

Sherlock almost broke down and told John everything right then. "Things are very complicated right now John."

"Then let me make things real simple." John reached out and grabbed Sherlock once again by the coat. This time it was to pull him close, pressing their lips together. Sherlock felt all the air leave his lungs and he held on to John for fear that his whole body might collapse. He felt dizzy with joy and for a brief moment he forgot about Moriarty and everything else that had been rattling around in his brain. Nobody could shut his brain off quite like John.

Then as if he had been hit in the back of the head, everything came rushing back. They were kissing in the middle of the street. Jim would undoubtedly see them. Just like that he'd managed to put John in danger again. _Damn it John, why can't you just let me save you? _

Sherlock pulled away from the kiss with some difficulty. "I can't do this. I can't afford distractions right now."

"Is that what I am?" John asked resting his forehead against Sherlock's. "A distraction?"

"If I ever made a list, you would be at the top of it."

"Let me help you." He reached up and placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. "I can help you find Moriarty. You don't have to do this alone."

"No." Sherlock shook his head and pulled away. Honestly, the one time he tried to do the right thing and John was making it so damn difficult. "John, please listen. You have to stay away from me."

"Why won't you just tell me what's going on?"

Sherlock backed away. "You should get back to your date."

"You are infuriating, do you know that?" John yelled after him in annoyance.

Sherlock forced himself to keep walking. Why couldn't John see that he was trying to save him? Why did he have to muddle everything up with that kiss? Sherlock had never been so flustered in all his life. He turned the corner and decided to do something else he'd never done in his life; get very, very drunk.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock sat at the bar and waited for the bartender to come over. "What can I get you?" he asked.

"What would be the most sufficient way to get pissed quickly?" Sherlock asked.

"Liquor." The bartender answered. "Lots of it."

"Then that's what I'll have." Sherlock took off his scarf and coat and set them on the stool next to him.

"Any particular type you'd like?"

"Anything will do…?" he left it open ended.

"Tom." The bartender filled in. He was in his mid-fifties, in all likelihood, this was his bar. Statistically, very few middle aged men were just bartenders.

"Tom." Sherlock nodded.

Tom took out four shot glasses and placed them on the bar in front of Sherlock, then proceeded to pour a clear liquid into each one. "Did you want a chaser?"

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, unfamiliar with the term.

"The alcohol burns on the way down, some people chase it to lessen it." Tom informed him.

"What would you suggest?" Sherlock asked, somewhat ignorant on the finer details of getting intoxicated.

"Look mate, if you're intent of getting drunk fast, I suggest you knock those back quickly and without reservation."

"Right." Sherlock nodded. He stared at the four shots in front of him and took it as a challenge. He wrapped his long fingers around the first one and lifted it to his lips. He tilted his head back slightly and gulped it down. His throat burned, causing him to cough and the pain spread to his chest.

Tom chuckled slightly and filled a tall glass with a beer. "Drink some of that."

Sherlock obliged taking a few sips. He disliked the taste of the beer but it helped. "Ok, this time hold the shot in one hand, the beer in the other. Knock back the shot and then immediately take a sip of the beer." Tom instructed him.

Sherlock did as Tom said and was surprised that chasing shot with the beer helped. "Good lad." Tom nodded approvingly and went to serve someone else.

XXXXXXX

"I had a nice time." Mary said politely as they made their way out of the restaurant.

"You don't have to lie." John told her.

"I'm not lying." She laced her fingers through his and nudged her shoulder against his own. "Your friend Sherlock is certainly a character. He wasn't enough to spoil the evening though."

"I'm sorry about that."

"Will you stop apologizing?" she sighed in frustration. "It wasn't your fault."

"It feels like it is." John shrugged.

"You've really got to relax. It was interesting to say the least. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to look up both of your websites tonight."

"My blog has been pretty dead lately. I'm afraid if I go to write in it, I'll end up sounding like a brokenhearted teenage girl." John forced a laugh.

Mary gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only, you know, to anyone with eyes." She chuckled.

"I guess I'm a pretty lousy date." John smiled apologetically.

"Not at all. We're both broken John. Sometimes it's not about feeling that spark or finding someone to fall madly in love with. Sometimes you just need a night out, away from the bitter loneliness."

"You're a remarkable woman Mary. If things were different, I think we really could have hit it off."

"If things were different." She nodded with a sigh.

XXXXXXX

"Have you ever had an archenemy Tom?" Sherlock asked, his voice slurring and his head was fuzzy.

"Can't say that I have." Tom answered, cleaning the glasses. The bar was mainly empty, Tom had already done last call and there were a few stragglers trying to finish their last drinks.

"I wouldn't recommend it." Sherlock huffed out a breath and put his head down on the bar. "It makes a right mess of things."

"I'll keep that in mind." Tom joked as he cleaned the glasses from the bar.

"What about love? Done that?"

"A fair few times, yeah." Tom replied. "Love can also make a right mess of things."

"It can indeed." Sherlock nodded, his cheek rubbing against the bar.

"Alright Sherlock, let's get you up and into a cab." Tom said walking around the bar. He took Sherlock's coat from its place on the stool and helped him into it. Then he draped the scarf over Sherlock's neck. Sherlock's brain felt like it was swimming in alcohol. Tom led him out the door as Sherlock stumbled alongside him.

"So this is what intoxication feels like." Sherlock mumbled as the cold night air hit him.

"You're definitely pissed." Tom shook his head. "Let's get you into a cab."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side. "You seem to be a very smart fellow Tom."

"I wouldn't say that." Tom grinned bemused.

"Are you a happy chap?" Sherlock asked, his body suddenly feeling like it weighed too much. He leaned against Tom to support this sudden weight.

"I wouldn't say that either."

"I don't do feelings. I'm rubbish at feelings." Sherlock confided.

"It seems to me that you felt something strong enough to need to come here and drink it away." Tom pointed out.

"True." Sherlock contemplated it. Emotions had never really factored into things until John. John happened and suddenly Sherlock was feeling things that he shouldn't have been feeling. John was like alcohol, messing with Sherlock's head until he couldn't think properly, couldn't see straight. Things had always been so clear before John came into the picture and muddled it all up.

"In you go Sherlock." Tom said helping him into a taxi Sherlock hadn't even noticed pull up.

"Thank you Tom, you are a right gentlemen." Sherlock said holding out his hand.

"Cheers lad." Tom said shaking Sherlock's hand and then slowly closing the door for him.

Sherlock mumbled the address to the cabbie and rested his head against the seat. He couldn't remember his head ever feeling so heavy. He'd been under the influence of things like this before but this was his first time being drunk. He'd had glasses of wine before but he'd never been a big drinker. Just another thing he could blame on Doctor John Watson, making him feel things.

Sherlock slipped out of the cab as it pulled up to 221B. He slipped the cabbie a bill, his eyes unable to focus on it so he was unsure if it was sufficient. He closed the door and stood there for a moment, his footing questionable. It felt like any moment he might topple over.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and fell to his knees from the impact. His eyes went fuzzy and then completely black.

XXXXX

"No, he's definitely drunk. It's not an act." Sherlock heard a voice he didn't recognize and could feel someone's breath on his face. He tried to open his eyes but is vision was blurry. He could see a vague outline of a man, someone with blond hair.

For a second he thought it might be John but as the face came clearer into view, he realized with a heavy heart that it was not.

He was leaning up against something, he assumed it was the door to his flat. There was someone else, kneeling beside Sherlock but his peripheral vision was even cloudier and he couldn't make them out. At least not until they spoke. "Hello, my dear." Moriarty said quietly into his ear.

Sherlock tried desperately to get up, to get into a position where he could defend himself, but someone was holding him down. He blinked a few times, trying to get his eyesight back. He heard Jim stand up the other, the other man staying where he was to keep Sherlock in place.

"So this is what has become of the great Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty said, his voice dripping with disgust. "A drunken, sniveling mess. I've got to say Sherlock, I'm more than a little disappointed."

"Piss off." Sherlock said unable to do anything else. He felt a swift pain in his stomach, winding him. The blond man had kicked him in the gut, causing him to double over in pain.

"I came all the way here Sherlock, the least you could do is be polite." He could tell Jim was grinning from his voice.

"So you're the organ grinder. Who's the monkey?" Sherlock asked when he'd gotten his breath back.

"I told you, I don't like to get my hands dirty. That's where Sebastian comes in." Moriarty put a hand on the blond man's shoulder.

"Since when do you make house calls?" Sherlock asked, his vision finally returning completely.

"We were in the neighborhood, thought we'd pay you a little visit."

"You really shouldn't have." Sherlock found himself simultaneously wishing John were there and being relieved that he wasn't.

Jim scrunched his face and sucked a breath in through his teeth. "See, we didn't just come for tea and biscuits."

"I didn't offer any." Sherlock interjected.

Jim ignored him. "I have a little message for you, darling. I thought your desperate little search to find me was pathetic and then this happened. It's like you're not even trying, which quite frankly offends me. If you're going to play the game, play it well Sherlock."

Moriarty nodded at Sebastian and suddenly Sherlock was on his feet. Sebastian's hand was around Sherlock's throat, choking the life out of him. Jim stepped over and stood next to them.

"Now, I thought I wanted you out of the way. But see the thing is, it's a bit boring. So I'm going to need you to try just a little harder. That means no more distraction, including adorable little army doctors or trips to the pub. Tomorrow I want you fresh as a daisy and back on your feet. I would threaten you but I think you already have a pretty good idea of what I'll do."

Sherlock was clawing at Sebastian, trying to pry his hand away. He felt his eyes beginning to roll back into his head when Moriarty slapped him. "Are you paying attention?"

"Yes." Sherlock gasped.

"Good." Moriarty smiled. "Let him go Sebastian."

Sebastian's grip loosened and Sherlock sucked in as much air as his lungs could take. He began coughing and wheezing, putting his hands on his knees to brace himself.

"Before we're off, I'm going to have Sebastian rough you up a bit. I'd love to spare you it, but he gets so cranky if he goes awhile without hitting someone. Honestly he's incorrigible but such good fun at parties." Moriarty leaned in so his breath was tickling Sherlock's ear. "And between you and me, I get off on it just a little bit."

Moriarty stepped back and gave Sherlock a wink. Sherlock was about to retort when Sebastian's fist made contact with his jaw. It was like getting hit with a meat cleaver and Sherlock went down. Sebastian kicked him in the stomach again and Sherlock felt like he might throw up. The gorilla grabbed him by his coat and lifted him up, his fist smacking against his face over and over. Sherlock could feel his face dripping blood as the fist kept making contact.

"Enough." Moriarty said and Sebastian landed one final blow before dropping Sherlock. He crumpled to the ground and didn't even bother trying to get up. Moriarty called his car and the two of them disappeared inside it moments later. "Till we meet again." Moriarty called out before shutting the door.

XXXXXXXX

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson asked as she stepped into his flat. "Your brother is here to see you."

"Tell him to piss off." Sherlock yelled from the sofa.

"Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson scolded disapprovingly.

"It's quite alright Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft said stepping into the flat. "He's been through a difficult time."

"I know." Mrs. Hudson sighed. "He hardly ever leaves the flat anymore. Not since J—"

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock cut them off, not wanting to hear his name.

"I'll just leave you to it." She replied, leaving in a hurry.

"Is this really the best way to be occupying your time?" Mycroft asked, pushing some papers off a chair and sitting down.

"I don't see how it's any business of yours." Sherlock huffed. For some reason Mycroft always brought out his childish side. He couldn't help behaving like a petty child when his brother was around. "And you can save the concerned brother act. I'm not in the mood."

"My concern is not an act, no matter what you might think. When I was informed that you had not left your flat in a week and a half, I felt I should stop by, make sure you hadn't died."

"Yes well, you've done that now. Close the door on your way out."

"What are these?" Mycroft asked gesturing the bits and pieces on the coffee table.

"Cameras and bugs." Sherlock replied.

"Moriarty?" Mycroft assumed.

"Of course. If it wasn't you who else would it be?" Sherlock had already grown tired of this conversation. He'd spent a particularly long and grueling day going over every inch of the flat looking for how Moriarty was watching him. He knew too many intimate details to be getting things from CCTV cameras alone. He'd found a total of 12 hidden cameras around the flat and 30 bugs. He'd proceeded to smash them all in what could only be categorized as a fit.

"You could have come to me for help." Mycroft said offended.

"I'm perfectly capable of finding surveillance equipment in my apartment on my own, thank you."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother's immaturity.

"There was nothing you could have done. Besides, I took care of it. He's safe." Sherlock said through gritted teeth.

"You don't honestly believe that Sherlock, you're not that naïve. John Watson will never be safe as long as he's got a connection to you."

"I know that." Sherlock snapped in irritation. "Did you come here simply to tell me things of which I am already aware?"

"I came to make sure you hadn't fallen off the deep end, but clearly you have."

"I'm fine." Sherlock growled.

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" Mycroft asked, raising his eyebrow. "Why don't we try a little honesty, hmm?"

"I'm not fine." Sherlock dropped all pretenses. "I'm very far from fine."

"Yes, it seems John Watson was better for you than any of us imagined." Mycroft glanced around the room to prove his point.

"How much do you know?"

"Everything."

"Hasn't anyone told you it's rude to spy on people?" The idea of Mycroft watching Sherlock and John's more intimate moments was unsettling to say the least.

"I was simply doing what was necessary to keep you safe, I did however give you privacy when the situation called for it." Mycroft said, putting Sherlock's mind somewhat to rest.

"What do I do now?" Sherlock asked helplessly.

"You work the case Sherlock. Find Moriarty." Mycroft replied as if it was so simple.

"How?" Sherlock asked running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I've been over everything a million times. There's nothing."

"You need to take a step back. You're allowing your emotional state cloud your judgment."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not emotional." Sherlock scoffed.

Mycroft ignored him. "Perhaps this will help." He said getting up from his seat to hand Sherlock a flashdrive. "It's everything we know about Moriarty including CCTV camera footage of the night a week and a half ago he came to 221B. The camera's followed his car but unfortunately he was too clever and managed to slip them. All Moriarty's known associates are also in there."

"And why am I just getting this now?" Sherlock asked disgruntled.

"Because we just finished compiling everything today and I just finished a massive amount of paperwork that allows you to see some of the things in here." Mycroft explained.

"Oh." Sherlock said somewhat speechless. "Thank you."

"Goodness, John has been a positive influence, hasn't he?" he said surprised by Sherlock's gratitude.

"Shut up." Sherlock said heading over to his laptop and putting the flashdrive in.

"Right, well I'll leave you to it."

Sherlock was so caught up in what he was reading, he didn't even hear Mycroft leave. This was the first big break in the case, his first stroke of luck. This could be the key to everything, the key to bringing down Moriarty. After months of nothing, he suddenly had clues, something to go on. He was one step closer to bringing John Watson home.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock felt the kind of rush he only got when he was close to solving a case (or was close to orgasm but he didn't allow himself to make the comparison). All the information Mycroft had given him was fitting together nicely, the puzzle pieces falling into place. It wouldn't be long now.

Sherlock had watched the CCTV footage repeatedly and then used it to plot out Moriarty's most likely course. He had to have some base of operations; he couldn't do what he did from a car. He'd narrowed the possibilities down based on the other information he was given. Now there was just one place left.

Sherlock gathered all the information and headed downstairs. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. If he was going to confront Moriarty, this time he was going with the entire police force with him. This meant he had to change his plan somewhat. There wasn't even a slight possibility that Lestrade would allow Sherlock the kill Moriarty. But he would rather go with backup and make sure Moriarty didn't escape than go by himself and risk the chance he might get away.

When he got to the station, he passed all the insignificant officers and went straight into Lestrade's office. Lestrade barely looked up when Sherlock walked in, busy on the phone. Sherlock impatiently paced in Lestrade's office before getting fed up and reaching over to disconnect the call.

"What the hell!" Lestrade exclaimed in irritation.

"This can't wait." Sherlock said not wanting to get into an argument. They had to act fast if they wanted to catch Moriarty.

"No matter what you may think, this outfit does not run on your schedule." Lestrade said picking up the phone and dialing again.

"I found Moriarty." Sherlock said dropping the file onto Lestrade's desk.

"Oh." Lestrade hung up the phone and looked somewhat embarrassed. "Maybe you should have led with that."

"Battersea Power Station." Sherlock said before Lestrade even had time to open the file.

"Yes, I'm aware of the place." Lestrade said putting his hands on his hips.

"That's where he is, I'm sure of it."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"When am I ever ridiculous?" Sherlock didn't like the accusation.

"More times than you realize." Lestrade retorted. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something nasty but stopped himself. He needed to move things along and bickering with Lestrade would be counterproductive.

"Moriarty is there. I guarantee it."

"He's running his operations from a national landmark?" Lestrade asked giving Sherlock a dubious look. "Did he move there after Big Ben proved unsatisfactory?"

"Don't you see, that's why it's so brilliant? It's been abandoned for years. It's right on the Thames so easy water access."

"For God's sake Sherlock, they're planning on renovating it."

"Yes, which was conveniently pushed back till next year, giving Moriarty time to find a new place. Look, we don't have time for this."

"Yes and what do you expect me to do about it? I'm not going to immobilize my men based on a hunch you have."

"I don't go by hunches, I deal with facts. It doesn't matter, if you won't help, I'll go by myself."

"Yourself?" Lestrade asked looking surprised by this information. "You're not going to call—"

"No." Sherlock cut him off, knowing exactly whom he was going to say. Sherlock hadn't gone to such length to keep John safe just to put him back in the line of fire now. "So are you coming or not?"

"Fine." Lestrade caved. "But you have to work with me on this Sherlock. I don't want to see you off on your own, being reckless."

"Wouldn't dream of it." The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up into a smile.

XXXX

Sherlock sat in the back of the cab feeling almost giddy. Jim would be at the power station. Sherlock had no doubt in his mind. The moment he'd seen it in one of the routes he had drawn on his map, he'd known that was where Moriarty had gone. It was brilliant and high profile enough to be Jim's style. No one would ever think of looking for him there but allowed him a chance to show off.

This was the final stretch. Moriarty would be behind bars and everyone could rest easy. Sherlock couldn't help wondering what his life would be like without the consulting criminal. Jim wasn't the only criminal in the world but he was an intriguing one. Sherlock worried about what he would do to fill his time after Moriarty was gone.

_John. _The thought came to him instantly and filled him. After all, that was what all of this had been about. John, who was always surprising even after all this time. John, who could make him feel things he'd never even thought he was capable of. The man who was always at his side no matter how bad things got. The man he wished was there now.

When he pulled up to the power station, most of the police cars were already there. At least Lestrade had the forethought to keep the lights and sirens off. Sherlock only hoped the arrival of ten police cars had gone unnoticed by Moriarty. He quickly paid the driver and went to join Lestrade.

"Some officers are checking the perimeter to make sure we're not walking into an ambush." Lestrade informed him.

"Good." Sherlock said stepping forward. Lestrade's hand reached forward and jerked him back by his coat. "Remember that thing I said in my office about you not going off on your own?"

"Vaguely." Sherlock waved it off to busy thinking about Moriarty to answer him properly.

Lestrade shook his head. "If you don't behave, I'll make you wait out here and have Anderson keep an eye on you."

"Fine." Sherlock snarled, unhappy with being threatened. "When do we go in?"

"When I know I'm not sending twenty officers in to get killed." Lestrade countered.

Sherlock clenched his jaw. His whole body was practically shaking with anticipation. Still he waited as grueling a task as it was. When the two men returned, they claimed they hadn't seen anything, as far as they could tell there was no one inside. Sherlock and Lestrade exchanged glances and Sherlock headed off for the door, this time Lestrade didn't stop him.

The police broke off into groups, Lestrade staying with Sherlock. As all the officers pulled out their guns, Sherlock felt somewhat vulnerable and exposed without one. He let Lestrade lead, containing his overzealousness, staying behind the man with the gun. He mentally chastised himself for telling John where the gun was He could have used it now.

They walked along the walls, the old structure crumbling a bit when their bodies accidentally grazed it. The air had a faint musty smell mixed with the smell of the water. Sherlock tapped Lestrade on the shoulder to get his attention.

"Footprints. Only a few hours old. At least five different people, probably male going by their shoe size." Sherlock kept his voice hushed.

"Yeah, but where are they now?"

Sherlock frowned knowing what he meant. He hadn't exactly been expecting the place to be crawling with people but he was expecting more than this. The only sound was the other officer's footsteps shuffling as they searched the powerhouse.

Sherlock worried the other police officers had made too much noise and had tipped Moriarty off. He had a strange sort of innate feeling that Moriarty had been there. He was so sure that this was the place, maybe he had just waited too long to act.

They reached the main part of the power station and the whole place was empty. If there had been anyone there, they were long gone now. Unable to stop himself, Sherlock rushed forward and stood in the center of the room. He turned in circles, not sure what he was searching for. A clue, evidence, anything that could prove Moriarty had been there.

There was a worktable and Sherlock's gaze focused on it for a moment. There was a piece of paper flapping in the breeze, a brick positioned on top of it to keep it in place. Sherlock's steps were hesitant as he walked over, checking to make sure there were no little red dots going to appear as he got closer. He put his hand down on the paper to steady it while he read what was written on it.

_Maybe next time, Darling! _

Sherlock pounded his fist against the table, his blood boiling in anger and frustration. Of course Moriarty wasn't there. As usual, he was two steps ahead. It had been foolish to assume they would just walk in and arrest him. Moriarty would never make it that simple. Still Sherlock had allowed himself to hope. He'd put too much stock into it, thinking this would solve all his problems. Now he was going to have to start all over again

"What is it?" Lestrade asked hurrying over. "What's wrong?"

"We're too late." Sherlock didn't bother to hide the disappointment, the defeat, in his voice. "He's gone."

Sherlock handed over the not Jim had left to Lestrade and turned away from him. Lestrade read it and then radioed the rest of the officers to pack it in. Sherlock closed his eyes, knowing this was it. Another round had gone to Moriarty. He felt Lestrade's hand on his shoulder. "Sorry Sherlock."

'It's of no consequence, we know he was here. It is more of a lead than we've had in months." Sherlock made his voice icy and indifferent. He didn't need anyone's pity, people feeling sorry for him because once again he'd lost.

Lestrade dropped his hand and headed out to meet up with the other officers. Sherlock was about to join them when the pink phone dinged. He seriously considered smashing the phone into a million pieces like he had Moriarty's cameras. He didn't though because now the phone was his only real like to Moriarty.

He grabbed the phone from his pocket and prepared himself for more of Moriarty's gloating.

_Leaving so soon?_

Sherlock stared at the message and wondered what Moriarty meant by it. His hand's hovered over the keys, wondering what to write back. Why would he stay if Jim wasn't there? Had Jim left him something else to find? Something he had missed? Or was Jim telling him that he was in fact there and just hiding?

Sherlock spun around, looking for where the consulting criminal could be. It dawned on him and he scolded himself for not thinking of it straight away. There was only one place the police hadn't looked.

As he stepped outside, the cold air rushed to meet him. The water made the air ten degrees colder, forcing Sherlock to pull his coat tighter around him. Approaching, he saw three figures outlined by the backdrop of the Thames. He recognized one of the figures as the ape that had used his face as a punching bag. The small figure was unmistakably Moriarty.

The third person Sherlock couldn't identify until he got closer. He would have recognized him sooner except he never expected to see him there. "John." Sherlock whispered, his body filling with dread. It was only when he was on the dock that the scene before him became clear.

John's hands were behind his back, most likely in handcuffs. Sebastian had a gun on John that he turned on Sherlock the moment he drew near. Jim was standing between them, a grin already plastered on his face.

"That's quite close enough." Jim said and Sherlock stopped walking forward. "I already apologized to John for the handcuffs but then again, you seem to like him in handcuffs."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked John, ignoring Moriarty's obvious attempt to get him flustered.

"Yes." John nodded. His jaw was clenched, he was trying to look brave but the terror in his eyes showed.

"I thought Johnny should be present for this, get the old gang back together, as it were."

"Let him go." Sherlock growled in a threatening manner, though he had nothing to back it up with.

"Yeah well, I would but I can't. See you've forced my hand Sherlock. You pushed me to this."

"He's not a part of this anymore." Sherlock yelled, clenching his fists

"Oh come on, you can do better than that." Jim teased, making a clicking noise with his tongue. "You think I would fall for your silly charade? I'm not as thick as John over there."

"What?" John asked clearly confused by what he had just heard. He quickly closed his mouth, realizing this was not the time to go into it.

"Aww, that's adorable." Jim clapped his hands together with fake saccharine. "You thought it was real? You honestly believed he went from shagging your brains out to loathing you in the course of one day? You never realized his actions were based solely on the threats I'd made against you?"

"What threats?" John blurted out

"Oh." Jim said, his eyes and grin widening "So Sherlock didn't tell you about the messages we exchanged?"

"No." John said, his eyes on Sherlock. Sherlock had to lower his gaze; unable to stand the way John was looking at him. Still, he could feel the weight of John's stare, waiting for an explanation.

"I was trying to keep you safe." It was all Sherlock could say in reply.

"Well you did a hell of a job of it." John answered sarcastically.

"It's not my fault you managed to get yourself capture, yet again." Sherlock snapped back.

"It's not like I _let_ myself get captured." John said indignantly. "Just a hazard of knowing you."

"Alright, the touching moment of this program is over. Time to get to the killing." Moriarty said interrupting their argument.

Sherlock looked around, did a quick calculation in his head and made a split decision. He lunged forward, tackling Sebastian just as he pulled the trigger. They fell backwards, Sebastian's head smacking against a block of concrete. A pool of blood was already forming around his head. Sherlock grabbed the gun and turned it on Moriarty.

Except Moriarty had moved, positioning himself behind John, using him as a human shield. Sherlock tried to get a good shot but the tiny man was practically invisible behind John. When he did come into view, it was to put a gun against John's temple.

"I thought you didn't like to get your hands dirty." Sherlock recalled Moriarty's earlier words.

"I don't, doesn't mean I won't though."

"Just let John go, this is between you and me." He had no idea if he would survive this but he could at least try to keep John safe.

"Of course it isn't." Jim yelled, pressing the gun harder against John's skin. "Don't you see how much he's weakened you? He's made you pathetic, full of feelings."

"What bothers you more, finding out I'm capable of having emotions or learning that I'm less like you than you thought?"

"Your feelings have made you half the man you were." Moriarty spat. "I want your head in the game, not lusting after John like some schoolboy."

"You just want my full attention." Sherlock scoffed. "A petulant little child who can't bare to have something else occupying my time."

"Bit of the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think?"

"Perhaps, but when I want attention, I don't kill people."

"Not yet, but give me time." Moriarty's face curled back into a smile.

"You don't have time." Sherlock said, a smile spreading on his own face with the knowledge Moriarty didn't possess. "The thing is, I've got Lestrade on speed dial. All I had to do was reach into my pocket and press one little button. He heard everything; he knows you're here. He will have turned all those cop cars around and undoubtedly they will be here momentarily."

"Then what?" Moriarty asked, his eyes flashing with something sinister. "What do you think will happen if I get put in prison? I have endless accomplices. You think I can't do what I do from prison? If anything it will make it easier, easier to get to you. And I would get to you Sherlock. You'd never be safe. This dance of ours will never end as long as we're both alive. The music will keep playing and we'll both keep spinning around each other. It'll never end Sherlock, never."

Sherlock ignored Moriarty and focused his attention on John to share the moment of triumph. It was short lived as John fell to his knees. Moriarty had hit him over the head with the butt of his gun, knocking John out. Jim kicked John's limp body off the dock and into the Thames.

"Make your choice Sherlock. You can either save John or keep me from escaping. You can't do both."

"You forgot the third option." Sherlock said and without hesitation his finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet went straight through Moriarty's skull and the consulting criminal crumpled to the ground.

Sherlock quickly stripped off his coat and scarf before diving into the water where John had fallen in. The water was murky and opening his eyes while submerged was awkward but he forced himself to do so anyway. He swam as deep as he could in an attempt to find any sign of John, knowing he couldn't have gone far. He stayed under until his lungs were burning for more air. He broke the surface and inhaled deeply. He treaded water, turning in circles to find John.

His suit was soaked and slowing him down and the water was freezing. The surge of adrenaline was helping as he franticly searched. He descended under the water again, keeping his eyes open despite the pain. It was dark, making his current task almost impossible and yet he couldn't give up.

_Not him._ Sherlock thought as he continued his search in vain. _He can't be allowed to die. Not John. Anyone but John. _

Then by some miracle, he saw the faint outline of a figure in the distance. He swam towards it and felt such relief when it was John. He grabbed him and swam quickly and awkwardly towards the shore. When he could stand, he slipped his hands under John's arms and carried him. He laid him on the sand and put his head against his heart. It was beating faintly but he wasn't breathing.

Sherlock lowered his lips to John's and began performing CPR. A strange, overwhelming feeling was spreading as he continued the motions over and over. He felt almost hysterical as he tried desperately to revive John. He was well aware that he was crying, unable to stop. The moment John coughed, the water leaving his lungs, Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and held him close, rocking slightly.

He couldn't help the feeling that there was something else wrong. He pulled away from John and looked him over. John was bleeding from the leg. The bullet Sebastian had fired must have hit John after all. Sherlock clutched John to him again. There were sirens in the background that Sherlock hadn't bothered to notice. He began yelling for help, hoping Lestrade or someone would hear him.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock sat in the hospital, his face still and his hands tented under his chin, just watching John. They'd managed to get the bullet out and stable him but his body had been through a lot between almost drowning, getting shot in the leg and the cold from the water. John had about thirty blankets on him and he was still shivering.

Sherlock had his own blanket and a cup of coffee one of the nurses had brought him. They'd taken his suit and given him some new, dry clothes. He looked quite ridiculous in the jeans and jumper they had supplied him with. But they were warm and he had more pressing matters on his mind.

He reached forward and slipped his hand around John's, curling his fingers through his. John stopped shivering for a moment and Sherlock thought he might wake up. He didn't and the shivering started up again almost immediately. He considered getting into bed with John, using his own body heat to help warm him but decided against it. He doubted the hospital staff or John himself would take kindly to the idea.

"Sherlock, I'm sorry." Lestrade said standing next to Sherlock's chair. Sherlock hadn't even heard him come in. Really his deduction skills were getting terrible. It wasn't like him not to notice things.

"For what? If you hadn't come back John would probably be dead by now."

"Not about John." Lestrade swallowed and shuffled his feet a bit. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you in."

"Why?" Sherlock asked finally turning his attention away from John to focus on the Detective Inspector.

"Sherlock you killed two people tonight. I can't just turn a blind eye no matter who the victims were."

"You have to be joking." Sherlock said standing up. "First off, you have no proof."

"No proof? I heard the entire conversation leading up to the murder." Lestrade said insulted. "Besides you left this at the crime scene." Lestrade motioned to Sherlock's coat and scarf, which he had brought with him.

"Also since Moriarty took the time to wipe himself from the system, you can't ID the victims. So technically no one died on the dock tonight.'

"Sherlock—"

"And lastly whoever did kill those men was probably acting in self defense." Sherlock sat back down and took John's hand again. "Don't waste my time Lestrade."

Lestrade sighed and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. "I hope he pulls through this."

"He will." Sherlock said, his teeth gritted in determination. "He's been through worse."

"Keep us updated on his condition, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded in response and Lestrade left, leaving Sherlock's coat, signaling that he wasn't going to inquire into the murders any further.

XXXXX

They'd finally gotten John's temperature up and he had stopped shivering. They said all he had to do now was wake up. Harry was in to see John so Sherlock was waiting outside, pacing the hospital hallway outside the room. He should have gotten more coffee, it had been fifty hours since he'd last slept. He wasn't planning on getting any in the near future. He couldn't sleep until John was awake.

John had had a surprising amount of visitors. People from the clinic including Sarah had stopped by. That Mary woman had come and had even been polite to Sherlock, which was somewhat unexpected. Harry had been coming when she could. But each time Sherlock had to leave John's side, his stomach twisted further into knots.

He never went far, usually just to right outside the hallway. If it was Harry, he usually felt fine with leaving John in her care. He'd go get more coffee or eat enough to keep his body going. He only went back to Baker Street once, to change. When John woke up, he didn't want to stand there looking like a fool. It was Harry's day off so Sherlock had felt less uneasy about leaving the hospital. Then he'd be back at John's side, holding his hand like always.

XXXXXX

John remembered pain, so much pain. He had been walking back to Harry's after having drinks with Mary. Someone had come up behind him and put a cloth over his mouth. He involuntarily inhaled the chloroform and was out in seconds. The last thought going through his head before he passed out was _not again. _

He woke up on that dock, in handcuffs, with Moriarty and a man he didn't know. He was fairly certain he was going to die that night. Two police officers walked around the side of the building and John was about to call out to them when the man Moriarty called Sebastian took out a gun. John shut his mouth and waited, he assumed for Sherlock.

"Did you miss me John?" Moriarty asked stepping closer.

John didn't answer, keeping his face still. He wasn't going to give Moriarty the satisfaction of getting to him. Moriarty stepped even closer and began circling John like a vulture.

"What is it he sees in you John?" Jim asked, it was a question John had asked himself before. "Why out of all the ways to keep himself entertained, he chose you. Not just that but a physical relationship with you. What is it John? How could you possibly have enticed him? Why did he kiss you on the stairs that first time?"

"I don't know." John couldn't help responding.

"What is your power of him?" Jim stopped in front of John, standing too close for comfort. John considered headbutting him but if he tried an assault he was certain Sebastian would shoot him.

"I don't have one." John shook his head.

Moriarty stared at him looking into his eyes as if he was trying to see into his soul and discover the secret. "It doesn't matter. You'll both be dead before long."

Moriarty stepped away and pulled out his phone. John hoped Sherlock would be smart enough not to come but knew the man was dumb enough to be unable to resist. His heart sank the moment he saw the tall figure step into view.

Sherlock and Moriarty talked, John listened but mostly he just stared at Sherlock, knowing this was the last time they would ever see each other. Then Jim said something and John couldn't help chiming in. Sherlock and John began arguing. Of course the last conversation they would ever have would be an argument.

Sherlock tackling Sebastian seemed to happen almost in slow motion. There was a gunshot and John feared for a moment that Sherlock had been shot. Instead he felt a familiar sensation, pain in his leg from a bullet piercing his skin. He almost collapsed but then Moriarty was standing behind him, a gun in his back.

He switched his weight onto the other leg and tried not to pass out from the pain. Sherlock and Moriarty were talking but John didn't hear a word they said. Sherlock's eyes linked with his for a moment and then another sharp pain, this time at the back of his head and everything went dark.

John awoke in the hospital, someone holding his hand. The room was dark, it was obviously night. But how much time had passed? How long had he been out? What had happened on that dock after he'd been knocked out? He turned his head and saw a familiar dark head of hair. Sherlock was asleep, his head resting on the bed, still holding John's hand even in his sleep. John reached over with his other hand and smoothed Sherlock's dark curls away, wanting a better look at his face. His eyes felt heavy and it wasn't long before he was out again.

XXXXXX

Sherlock awoke in the hospital, his head on John's bed, their hands still entwined. He lifted his head and stretched his back, trying to compensate for the strange angle at which he'd slept. He was careful not to drop John's hand. As long as John's eyes were closed, Sherlock wanted him to know that he was there.

He was beginning to feel rather desperate. It had now been over three days and John still hadn't woken up. He bent down and kissed John on the forehead. Reluctantly he went to the bathroom, quickly relieving himself and was back in his seat in no time. All that coffee made it impossible for him to stay at John's side all the time but it was necessary to keep himself awake for as long as possible.

"John." Sherlock didn't put much stock in the theory that talking to patients made them recover faster but at this point he was willing to try anything. "I'm…sorry." The words felt strange on his lips, they were not ones he usually uttered. "It should have been me. He was supposed to come after me. I should have been the one to get shot, not you. After everything I did to keep you safe, you still ended up here. We could have, we should have stayed together."

Sherlock moved his chair closer holding John's hand tightly in his own. "You can't die now, John. You brave idiotic man. You can't die now because I need you. You once told me that I frightened you but it's nothing compared to the way you frighten me. I've never needed anyone before in my life. And the degree to which I need you terrifies me beyond belief."

He reached up with his free hand and traced the features on John's face. "And I need you to wake up. You know how I usually am with emotions, so I hope you can appreciate how hard all of this is for me to admit. I don't think I'd be able to say most of this if you were awake. But now that I have said it, you have to pull through this. If you don't, what am I going to do with all the useless information about Doctor John Watson I've got stored in my brain? What am I going to do?" His voice broke.

Sherlock stood and pressed his lips to John's. His lips were salty from his tears. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against John's. "It should have been me that took that bullet. It should have been anyone but you. You're the only decent person in this whole terrible world and you shouldn't have to go through this. It should have been me."

"That thought crossed my mind." John said quietly and Sherlock's eyes snapped open to see John was awake.

"John." Sherlock said, his voice catching in his throat. He pressed his lips against John's and had never felt anything more glorious than the feeling of John kissing him back. It was diminished somewhat when John pulled away and punched Sherlock in the jaw.

XXXXX

John wanted to forget everything and let Sherlock off the hook, especially after he'd heard Sherlock's little speech. He seriously considered dropping everything and just enjoying the feeling of Sherlock kissing him. But then he felt a twinge in his leg and remembered just what Sherlock had put him through. That's when he decided to punch him.

Sherlock looked stunned as he stumbled and recovered from the blow he'd just received. "What was that for?"

"You know what!" John shouted, his voice hoarse from the lack of fluids. "What could possibly have been going through your thick skull?"

"I was simply trying to keep you out of harms way."

"I'm not a bloody child Sherlock!" John was seething with anger. "I don't need you to protect me. I'm not some weak little victim that needs the great Sherlock Holmes to save me."

"I know that." Sherlock said not raising his voice, not engaging in John's argument. "My reasoning was perfectly sound."

"Which was?"

"Moriarty was threatening your life because of your attachment to me. If there was no longer an attachment there would be no reason for him to want you dead." Sherlock's voice was quiet as he explained. He was making it very hard for John to stay mad.

"You stupid git. Of course it wasn't going to be that simple. And why, pray tell, did your plan have to include breaking my heart?"

"It was the only way I could think to get you to leave." Sherlock said staring at the floor.

"Yes because living with you is such a great laugh that I'd never want to leave right?" John shook his head in disbelief.

"You're upset, maybe I should come back later." Sherlock said getting up from his chair.

"Maybe you shouldn't come back." John said not sure if he meant it. He was so angry and yet Sherlock's speech was still rolling around in his head. All those beautiful things Sherlock had said when he thought John was asleep. But how could he trust him after what he'd done? After how convincingly he had fooled John, if it was indeed an act. He'd never be able to believe a word Sherlock said.

"If that's what you would prefer." Sherlock said sounding so broken. He kept his back to John. "I won't come again until you ask for me"

XXXXX

Sherlock kept his word, he didn't come back to the hospital. John thought about calling him on so many different occasions but each time he stopped himself. It was abundantly clear that Sherlock already thought John was weak; he wasn't going to cave on this and prove that he was.

Instead he stayed at the hospital by himself. Harry visited when she could and Mary stopped by a few times. Lestrade even stopped by and John asked him about the details of that night. Lestrade filled in what he could and John realized, which a pang of guilt, what Sherlock had done for him. He tried not to dwell on it too long and yet every time someone sat in the chair that had previously been occupied by Sherlock, something felt very wrong.

The one person he never expected a visit from was the elder Holmes brother. Mycroft stood at the foot of John's bed looking like he didn't really want to be there. John could understand the feeling, not really wanting Mycroft to be there either. His few run-ins with the man had not been what he would call pleasant. John assumed Mycroft was only there because he felt he had to be.

"Doctor Watson, how are you?" Mycroft asked politely.

"Fine. Looks like I'll be walking with a cane again but considering how things could have gone, I'd say I'm pretty lucky." He'd been in the hospital for nine days and was growing quite restless. He wanted to go home, having to keep reminding himself that Harry's was his home now.

"John, I'm not a man with a great deal of spare time, may I be frank?" Mycroft asked cutting to the chase.

"Of course." John nodded.

"I feel that besides his immediate family, you are the person who understands Sherlock best."

"I wouldn't say that." John could spend the rest of his life at Baker Street and he doubted he would ever _understand _Sherlock.

"You understand how he is, his habits, his moods?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows as if he wanted to say more but was hold it back.

"I suppose on some level—"

"Then you know what a selfish creature Sherlock usually is. He's childish, possessive and rather indifferent to most people."

John nodded. This wasn't exactly news but he assumed Mycroft had a point or he wouldn't have taken time out of his busy schedule to visit.

"Then I hope you can appreciate how difficult it was to think of someone other than himself."

"I'm sorry, when did he do that?" John asked being unnecessarily snide.

"He pushed you away John."

"That's not exactly uncharacteristic for Sherlock." John shrugged.

"It is when it comes to you. You're the only person who has ever gotten close to my brother and indeed the only person he has let in. Do you honestly believe that if Moriarty hadn't been threatening your life he wouldn't have held on to you as tightly as he could?"

"Why does everyone keep acting like I have some brilliant insight into the mind of Sherlock Holmes?" John asked getting aggravated. "I don't know what Sherlock thinks, most of the time I'm struggling just to keep up."

"John, don't you see? Sending you away was the first unselfish thing my brother has done in quite some time. He put your well-being above his own desires."

"What are you, his advocate?"

"I hardly think you can begrudge me for wanting my brother to be happy. And since Sherlock is determined to respect your wishes not to come until you've sent for him, I felt I should speak on his behalf. People believe my brother is incapable of emotions. I'm afraid that shutting off that part of himself means that when he does feel something, he feels it stronger than most. Emotions are such a foreign concept to him that he doesn't always react to them the way he should."

"Pretty handy excuse."

"I'm not excusing his behavior, simply pointing out facts."

John huffed out a breath, feeling more frustrated and confused than ever. So Sherlock had thought about someone other than himself for once. What did that prove?

Mycroft reached for his pocket watch to check the time. "I'm afraid I have to depart. Please consider what I said."

"Sure." John said slumping down in his bed, feeling very drained.

So Sherlock cared about him. John rubbed his eyes wondering when his life had become this. He was lying in a hospital bed, alone, having just gotten a visit from his possible boyfriend's brother. When he was a kid, this was not even close to the life he had imagined.

He was sitting in his bed, stewing in anger and guilt and a million other emotions when Harry walked in. "Hello love." She said bending down and kissing his cheek.

"Harry, I need you to do me a favor." John said making a decision.

"Anything, name it and it's as good as done."

"I need you to call someone for me."

XXXXXXX

Sherlock was going out of his mind worrying. It had been six days since he'd left the hospital. He understood that John needed time to think but this was ridiculous. What could he possibly be thinking about for six days? He would be released from the hospital soon and then he would go back to Harry's place and Sherlock would possibly never see him again.

He considered breaking his promise and going back to the hospital about once every hour. Instead he would pace around the apartment or pluck at his violin. He would have given anything for a case to take his mind off of things but of course he'd killed his arch-nemesis so things were going to be rather quiet for the time being.

He was just about to give up all hope, resigning himself to a life without John when his phone rang. After briefly speaking with Harry, Sherlock was out of the house within seconds and into a cab. His heart was racing all the way to the hospital and he considered paying the driver extra to go faster.

It took every bit of self-control in him to not run through the hospital to get to John's room. When he did finally arrive there at his punishing pace, Harry was sitting next to the bed talking and laughing with John. Sherlock tentatively stepped into the room, not wanting to interrupt anything. He coughed loudly to announce his presence.

"I'll be back later." She said squeezing his hand and letting them have some privacy.

"John." Sherlock said biting his bottom lip nervously. He sat down in Harry's now vacated seat and waited for John to say something. John looked healthier than he had when Sherlock left. There was color in his cheeks and he was back to his usual weight now that he was eating actual food.

"I'm not really sure where to begin." John confessed, his tongue wetting his lips.

"How are you?" Sherlock asked, figuring the usual convention was a good a place to start as any.

"Better." John nodded. "They say I can be discharged tomorrow."

"I figured as much." Sherlock said and the conversation died. They sat there awkward, both waiting for the other to say something.

"Look Sherlock, I know emotions aren't really your strong suit but I also know you're very good at mimicking them. If we're going to try to begin reassembling what we used to have, I have to know that you're not faking things with me. I have to know I can trust you, that you'll tell me the truth and always be honest with me. I can't always be worried that you're just acting."

"So you wish me to tell you everything? Not hold anything back?" Sherlock asked trying to understand his full meaning.

"Well, no. If I look terrible you don't have to tell me. Just, important things. Not just things you think _concern_ me."

Sherlock looked away, ashamed of his previous words. He wondered how long John was going to use that against him. He supposed on some level he did deserve it.

"I also need you to treat me like an equal. Don't make decisions about things that concern both of us on your own. I know you thought you were doing the right thing but you could have told me what was going on. I knew what I was signing up for when I moved in with you. You said dangerous and I came, remember? I don't need you to mollycoddle me."

"Any more stipulations I should know about?"

"That's all for now." John said considering it. "If I think of any more, I'll let you know."

"Can I kiss you now?"

"I think that would be acceptable." John said smiling.

Sherlock got up out of his seat and sat on the edge of John's bed. The moment their lips touched, Sherlock felt his whole body relax. "Does this mean you forgive me?" Sherlock asked when he had to pull away to breathe.

"Not even remotely. You broke my heart and I took a bullet for you. I'd say you still have a lot of making up to do."

"I jumped into the Thames for you." Sherlock countered.

"I killed a man for you." John added.

"I killed two for you."

"Oh you're impossible." John growled, grabbing Sherlock by the hair and pulling him back in for more kisses.

"I would have killed more. I would kill anyone who threatens to take you away from me." Sherlock said resting his forehead against John's, their eyes locked.

"Don't do that." John said running his hand through Sherlock's hair. "You'll get into bad habits."

They both smiled before finding each other's lips again. They only pulled apart when the nurse came in, worried when John's heart monitor had sped up immensely. They couldn't help giggling at the shocked look on her face when she saw why.

XXXXXX

Sherlock and John held hands in the cab as they made their way back to Baker Street. John was finally going to come home and the thought elated Sherlock to a new level of euphoria. John was back using a cane, which would make things difficult for awhile. Sherlock had no doubt they would find a way around it.

The moment they were inside 221B, John pressed Sherlock up against the wall, forming his mouth around his. Sherlock looked around the hallway to make sure there was no sign of Mrs. Hudson and then devoted his attention to John's mouth.

John's lips traced down his jawline and then down to his neck. "John, you shouldn't start something you can't finish." Sherlock whispered into his ear.

"Just because I can't have sex doesn't mean I can't do other things." John mumbled against Sherlock's neck.

John one-handedly undid Sherlock's trousers and was surprised to find he wasn't wearing any shorts. Sherlock smiled wickedly and john's hand wrapped around his cock, stroking him right there in the hall where anyone could walk in on them. The thought was surprisingly erotic but he was surprised John didn't think of this. He'd gone quite red when the nurse had walked in on them kissing at the hospital. He couldn't imagine the color John would flush if they were caught now.

John began sucking on Sherlock's neck gently introducing his teeth at unexpected times. Sherlock's brain seemed to have completely shut off and he seemed to be saying John's name over and over.

"John."

John's thumb circled the tip of his cock.

"Yes, like that John."

He did a few quick strokes.

"Faster John."

John complied, rubbing his cock even faster. Johns lips found his again, probably to keep his quiet. He sucked on Sherlock's bottom lip then licked the top one. Sherlock's hand shot up and grabbed John by the back of the head, pulling him closer, their mouths opening to deepen the kiss.

John moaned against Sherlock's mouth and Sherlock felt his whole body shake as he came into John's hand.

"For God's sake Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson cried. John turned his head and looked beyond embarrassed. His ears and the back of his neck went a deep red, even redder than it had at the hospital. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at how adorable he was.

He reached down and quickly did up his trousers.

"I run a respectable place. If you two can't keep it confined to your apartment, I'll have you thrown out!" Mrs. Hudson threatened, obviously appalled by their behavior.

"Sorry Mrs. Hudson." John grumbled, still an alarming shade.

"Honestly." Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "You two were the last people I expected this kind of behavior from."

"It won't happen again." John assured her.

"Well…" Sherlock started less sure that was a promise they could keep until John elbowed him. Sherlock glared at him but he didn't say anything else.

"I bet Mrs. Tyler doesn't have to deal with things like this." Mrs. Hudson said before turning and leaving.

"Come on." John said starting up the stairs. Sherlock walked slowly behind him. "You know you can go up ahead of me?"

"Just enjoying the view." Sherlock grinned and John laughed.

Sherlock did run around John for the last few steps to get to the door first. Sherlock stood in front of it and waited. "Before you go in, there's something I should tell you."

"Oh god, what?" John sighed obviously expecting the worse.

"I took the liberty of having your stuff moved back in." Sherlock admitted.

"What?" John's jaw dropped open. "When? We only made up last night. How could you possibly have gotten it done by this morning? You were with me at the hospital."

"Well I called Mycroft last night after you fell asleep and I'm assuming his goons did it." John looked somewhat disturbed by that. "Are you cross with me?"

John thought it over for a moment. "No, I guess not. It saves us having to do it. But Sherlock this is one of those things you should have asked me before just up and doing it. Things that concern both of us, remember?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise."

"It was." John said taking Sherlock's hand in his. "A good one."

"Good."


	13. Thee Months Later

Three Months Later

John could hardly concentrate on his work, mainly because Sherlock wouldn't let him. His phone was buzzing every five minutes with a new text. John wanted to be annoyed but mostly he just found it endearing. Sherlock was acting like a little kid who had just gotten his favorite toy back, which in a way he was. It wasn't how John liked to think of his relationship with Sherlock but he supposed it applied.

It had been quite a challenge to get to this point and there were some times that John was sure he was going to kill Sherlock. Somehow adding sex into the mix had made Sherlock even more insufferable because he loved to use it to get his way. Not that they'd actually had sex since John had gotten shot. They'd done other things of course. That first few weeks after John moved back in, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

But living with Sherlock was difficult even on a good day. Cleaning up the flat from Sherlock's time alone was quite the chore. Getting rid of all those papers had taken awhile and there had been one terrifying incident involving some black stuff that was stuck to the wall. John was pretty sure it was the baked beans he had burned that one time. It seemed as though Sherlock had flung them at the wall. John didn't even want to know why but getting them off had been difficult.

One thing John could say was Sherlock had been extremely accommodating the last three months. Any time John so much as thought about having something, Sherlock would be out of his seat getting it as if he could read John's mind. It was nice having Sherlock be the one to make the tea for once. Sherlock was also big on bringing John breakfast in bed and he hardly ever burned it anymore.

**When will you be home? **

** SH**

John rolled his eyes even though Sherlock wasn't around to see it. He was home the same time every day and he said so in his returned text.

**Can't you hurry?**

** SH**

He smiled to himself. As much as he wanted to be annoyed with Sherlock, he had to admit it was very flattering. John couldn't remember anyone wanting him as badly as Sherlock seemed to. Getting shot in the leg was actually something of a blessing. It meant John had a reason to keep Sherlock at arms length until he knew he could trust him again. But he was done doing that, starting with tonight.

XXXXX

Sherlock couldn't concentrate. There was a dead body lying in front of him and he couldn't even tell you what gender it was. What had John done to him? He thought occupying his time with an investigation would be a better use of his time than sitting at home waiting for John. It turned out it was not.

Sherlock closed his eyes to pull himself together and made himself focus on the task at hand. But then his phone dinged with John's reply to his text and it was gone again. Three months without sex had turned him into a horny teenager. This was what he had been reduced to, a libido in a suit.

Honestly he blamed the whole thing on John. It wouldn't be this bad if John didn't insist they sleep in separate beds. It was, he had to admit, partly his fault. He'd rolled onto John's leg in his sleep, causing him agonizing pain. After that John slept in his own bed. It was why Sherlock was fond of making him breakfast in bed. It was a reason to slip into John's bed and lie with him while he ate. It was usually over too quickly as John got up to go to work or Sherlock got called away to a case.

Sundays, which Sherlock had usually found dull, were now his favorite days. It meant John didn't have work and it was rare for Sherlock to get a case. They'd spent the whole day on the couch kissing and watching crap telly. Well, John watched telly. Sherlock usually watched John.

Anderson made some snide comment and Sherlock glared at him before slipping his phone back into his pocket. The faster he concentrated, the sooner he could get home and sit there in agony until John got home. John would get out of work at four, then go right to physical therapy before coming home exactly at five like he always did. It was going to be a long day.

XXXXXX

The moment John entered the flat, Sherlock attacked him, grabbing him on either side of his face and devouring his lips with his. Sherlock kicked the door closed with one foot and then pressed John up against it. John's hands trailed down Sherlock's back before grabbing his magnificent arse. Sherlock was already hard against him and John was glad he was having such an affect.

"Bedroom." Sherlock said, his voice low and husky. He turned and headed in that direction, leaving a trail of clothes as he went. John took off his sock and shoes and followed him, resisting the urge to pick up the clothes.

John entered the bedroom to find a very naked Sherlock already on the bed. Sherlock's eyes flicked up and looked him up and down. "John, you're wearing entirely too much clothes."

John didn't move, instead shuffled his feet. Sherlock was off the bed in seconds and standing in front of John. "What's wrong?"

"How could you possibly find me attractive?" John asked quietly. "My body is twisted, mangled and full of scars. How could anyone want that?"

"John." Sherlock said cupping John's face with his hands and gently stroking his cheek with his thumb. "Have I not made it perfectly obvious how badly I want you? You have nothing to feel self-conscious about. The scars and bullet wounds show what kind of a man you truly are. You're an idiot for feeling ashamed of them."

"Well it doesn't exactly help with you standing there looking like that." John said motioning to Sherlock's very naked body in front of him.

"John, if I assume correctly that you do not wish that I were in any way different, why would I wish you to be different? If either of us were not fully satisfied, we wouldn't be here."

"Are you just trying to appease me so we can get on with it?" John cocked an eyebrow.

"Perhaps." Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile. "After three months of waiting, you can hardly blame me."

John responded by tilting his head upwards and finding Sherlock's lips. Sherlock's hands left his face and began unbuttoning his shirt. When he'd reached the last button, he untucked it from John's trousers and slipped it off his shoulders. Sherlock kissed along John's jawline and down his neck, finally settling at the wound on his shoulder. Sherlock ran his hand along the scar, his fingers tracing it before pressing his lips to it.

John stood very still, watching Sherlock and letting him do whatever he wanted. John would get involved soon enough but for the moment he was enjoying Sherlock's attentive touch. He began undoing John's pants and tugged them down, following them so he was on his knees. He kissed John's freshest wound, the one on his upper thigh, which had just finished healing.

John knew Sherlock was doing this for his benefit. In case John didn't believe what he said, he was going to show him. John couldn't imagine anyone doing more for him. And even though he'd suspected for a long time that he was in love with Sherlock, this was the first time he truly felt it without a shadow of a doubt. He was about to say something when Sherlock tugged down his underwear and with that John's brain forgot how to function.

Sherlock's tongue ran along the underside of John's cock from base to tip before pressing his lips against the head. Then he gracefully got to his feet and took John's hand, leading him to the bed, stepping out of pants as he went. Sherlock lied down on the bed and pulled John to him. Skin made contact with skin as their bodies rubbed together, their lips finding each other's.

John reached into the bedside table and grabbed the handcuffs, quickly shutting it around Sherlock's wrist and the bedpost just like Sherlock had done to him. Sherlock looked surprised. "I thought the rule was you always asked."

"Consider it karma." John shrugged before bending down to lightly bite Sherlock's bottom lip, pulling it slightly.

"Don't be ridiculous, there's no such thing." John relocated to Sherlock's collarbone, running his tongue along it.

"Then consider it revenge." John smiled against Sherlock's skin and then went back to kissing it. He brushed his thumbs over Sherlock's nipples, making him jump a bit from the sensation. Switching it up, he rolled them between thumb and finger, pinching them slightly until they were hard. Sherlock was moaning rather loudly and John wondered if he could make him scream again.

John went back into the bedside table to grab the lube. He positioned a pillow under Sherlock and began slicking up his fingers. He slipped one finger in, being gentle, after all it had been awhile. "John, you can do better than that." Sherlock growled impatiently.

John slipped two more fingers inside his arse, pushing all three deep inside Sherlock and then back out. He repeated the motion a few times and then inserted them as far as they would go. His other hand reached up and began stroking Sherlock's cock in time to the rhythm his fingers were moving in.

"John, would you just fuck me already?" Sherlock huffed, hitting his fist against a pillow in frustration. John twisted his fingers up in response, making Sherlock cry out with pleasure.

"I'm having quite the influence on your vocabulary." John snorted, pulling his fingers out. He brought his lips to Sherlock's, giving him a quick kiss and then going down his chest leaving love bites as he went.

"Such words are necessary when you're being so aggravating." Sherlock whined impetuously. John ignored him and continued making his way down. He trailed his tongue from Sherlock's navel down to his cock. Enjoying teasing Sherlock, he swirled his tongue around the tip of his cock before sucking the head and the precome that was there.

"John." Sherlock growled, his voice low in almost a purr. John licked the tip one last time before deciding to give Sherlock what he wanted. He sat up and began applying lube to his own cock.

John eased into Sherlock gradually, holding his hips to brace himself as he went in. His slick erection was throbbing inside Sherlock's perfect arse as he began rolling his hips, pushing in deeper. He moved slowly, keeping his pace even and controlled. He savored the feeling of Sherlock's muscles contracting around him as he drove himself out and then back in.

Sherlock wrapped his legs around John and began pushing against him, trying to speed up the thrusts. John compensated by shifting up and in, finding Sherlock's prostate and forcing a moan from the man's lips.

"Faster John." Sherlock begged, wrapping his fingers around the chain between the handcuffs, his other grabbing a fistful of the sheets. John did one quick, sharp thrust that issued a loud indescribable noise from his partner.

Sherlock released the sheets and grabbed his own cock. His movements were erratic as he wanked himself off. John watched him, the sight of Sherlock partly handcuffed to the bed, completely at John's mercy was so erotic. He felt even more aroused, if such a thing was possible. He stopped worrying about making his movements deliberate and just worried about going as fast and deep as possible.

"John. Fuck. Oh fuck. John." Sherlock said, his voice gruff. He bit down on his lip.

"No, I want to hear it." John said gripping Sherlock's hips, his fingers digging in.

"Faster John, please." Sherlock pleaded.

John started moving Sherlock's hips against him to meet his thrusts, pushing himself even deeper inside than he thought possible. Soon Sherlock took over, his hips grinding against John over and over.

"John. Oh God. Just like that. Oh fuck. John."

"Come for me." John requested watching Sherlock's long slender fingers stroke his own cock. He could feel he was close but he wanted Sherlock to come first.

"John, I, Oh God." Sherlock arched his back and wrapped his legs even tighter around John's middle as hot liquid erupted from his cock.

"Fuck." John yelled overcome and within a few more thrusts he came hard inside Sherlock, his body convulsing with a powerful orgasm as if it was losing control.

They panted together as John collapsed on top of Sherlock. He pulled himself out and let Sherlock hold him close. "Aren't you going to let me out now?" Sherlock asked jiggling the handcuffs.

"Do I have to?" John asked giving him a quick kiss. "Now that I've finally got you here, I'm not sure I want to let you out."

"I assure you these are not necessary. I have no plans to go anywhere."

"Good.' John said smiling approvingly. "You seem to be back to normal. No more one syllable words."

"Yes, well, you seem to have this ability to make my head go all fuzzy."

"That's quite the bragging rights." John gloated, reaching under the bedside table and grabbing the key from where it was taped. "The only person in the world who can derail Sherlock Holmes's brain."

He unlocked the cuffs and Sherlock dropped his hand. There were red marks from where Sherlock had pulled against the restraints. John pressed his lips to them, feeling somewhat guilty. They weren't deep, they would probably be done by the next day or so but still. It hadn't been his intention to cause Sherlock pain.

"I'm quite alright." Sherlock said as if he could read John's mind.

"You're sure?"

"I couldn't be better. How is your leg?"

"Surprisingly fine."

XXXXXX

Sherlock was sitting in his usual chair, his face stoic, his hands tented under his chin. John was in the kitchen making tea. He knew he would never be able to keep up with Sherlock's brain but he still didn't like when Sherlock got like this. Who knew what crazy notions were rolling around in that beautiful mind of his?

John placed a cup of tea near Sherlock in case he came out of his head and wanted it. John sat across from Sherlock, sipping his tea and waiting. He wanted to ask but if he interrupted Sherlock's thought process he would get cranky and John really wasn't up to dealing with that. He had just put his hands on the armrest to pull himself up when Sherlock spoke.

"John." Sherlock looked as if he was choosing his words carefully. "Do you remember a few months ago when you were going to tell me something but I stopped you?"

"Yes." John nodded. He was all too aware of what Sherlock was referring. He'd been about to tell Sherlock he loved him when Sherlock stopped him. At the time he was confused as to why Sherlock had done that but it turned out to be a blessing. Their time apart would have been even harder if he had said it. It would have been something else to fret over and hate himself for. So in the end Sherlock had done him a favor. Although he had no idea why Sherlock was bringing it up now.

"John, I'd like you to say it. Of course only if you mean it but I'm ready to hear it now."

"Well that's big of you." John rolled his eyes. "You want me to say those three little words but it never occurred to you to say them first."

"No it didn't." Sherlock confessed. Well at least he was being honest. "Would you prefer that I say it first?"

"I don't think either of us should feel obligated to say it until we feel it."

"Right, of course." Sherlock nodded and stared off into space for a moment before refocusing on John. "So you don't love me?"

"I didn't say that." John said suddenly feeling like he had dug himself a hole he couldn't get out of.

"You said you shouldn't say it until you feel it, which means you haven't felt it." Sherlock concluded.

"Well it's not exactly something you blurt out over afternoon tea, is it?" John responded, running his fingers through his hair, not sure how he was ever going to explain this.

"So it requires a special occasion?" he asked making an assumption.

"No." John shook his head. "It should just feel right. A moment where you don't have to say it but you want to, you need to because you want that person to know what they mean to you. It should be instinctive and impulsive to the point where you just can't hold it in any longer."

"Yes, of course." Sherlock mumbled mostly to himself and as he got up out of his seat. John watched him as he disappeared into the bedroom and wondered if he had made things better or worse. Only time would tell.

XXXXXXX

Sherlock tried several times over the next few weeks to tell John he loved him. Each time he held back, not sure if he was being impulsive enough. There was a few occasions where he almost blurted it out during sex but he bit his lip to hold it in. He knew the rule was that saying it during sex didn't really count. He would just have to think of something else.

He knew he shouldn't be planning it out. John had said it should be instinctive, but Sherlock didn't know any other way. He wasn't the type to just speak without thinking and that seemed to be how it was done. Why did it have to be so complicated? Things would be so much easier if John would just say it first. For whatever reason he wasn't and it was unbelievably frustrating.

Sherlock considered taking John out to Angelo's and telling him there. Or maybe he would take him to meet Tom the bartender. At least then maybe Sherlock could have a few drinks; loosen up enough to be spontaneous like John wanted. As it turned out, Sherlock never got a chance to do either of those things.

A case came up at the most opportune time to take Sherlock's mind off of things. Although John came with him, so it was still running through the back of his mind. It was like John had taken up a permanent residence in his brain. Even when he was thinking about seven different things, at least one of them was John,

They were in a parking garage, a woman lying dead next to an empty spot where presumably her car had been. Lestrade, Sally and Anderson were already there along with other members of the forensics team. Sherlock crouched down by the body, John doing the same on the other side. He was kneeling on his good leg, trying to keep the weight off his bad one. As much as he liked to pretend it didn't hurt anymore, Sherlock knew he was putting on a brave face. The leg still gave him pain on occasion but John would never admit it.

"Blunt force trauma." John said examining the body. "Someone attacked her from the back, hit her in the head. She hit the ground pretty hard considering the amount of gravel embedded in her face."

"It looks like a carjacker." Anderson interjected.

"Of course it's not." John scoffed before Sherlock could. Everyone's eyes fixated on John as he went on. "She's still got her purse. Why would someone steal her car but leave all her credit cards and cash? Also there's no tire marks anywhere in the vicinity. If someone had just murdered this woman and drove off in her car, they would have been in a hurry. Whoever did this just pulled out and left like it was nothing, which would suggest they probably knew her and wouldn't look suspicious driving her car."

Everyone looked somewhat dumbfounded, their eyes wide and blinking as they stared at John. He stood and so did Sherlock. Then before he knew what he was doing, he grabbed John by the front of his coat and kissed him, over the dead woman no less. "I love you." Sherlock breathed, resting his forehead against John's.

"Um, come here." John said looking over at the other three whose mouths were hanging open. John took Sherlock's hand and led him away from the crime scene. They went a few rows over, away from any of the police officers.

"Did I do it wrong?" Sherlock asked, feeling uncharacteristically nervous.

"No, I mean I would have preferred less of an audience..."

"You haven't said it back." Sherlock pointed out.

"I'm just not sure this is the best place to get in to this." John said looking around.

"John, do you love me or not?" Sherlock demanded.

"Can't we do this later?"

"It's a fairly simple question John."

"Alright!" John cried out in frustration. "I bloody love you. I love you! Are you happy now?"

"Yes." Sherlock smiled in satisfaction before grabbing John and pulling him in for another kiss. Sherlock pressed John against a random car and slipped his tongue into his mouth. It was amazing what a weight had been lifted now that he'd finally said it. Now he could just concentrate on loving John.

Someone coughed and the two of them turned to see Lestrade standing there looking uncomfortable. "Hi. So we're all very happy for you two but could you maybe finish this after you help me solve the murder?"

"Piss off." Sherlock said.

"Of course." John said at the same time. He gently pushed Sherlock away and Sherlock clenched his jaw in irritation.

"Thank you." Lestrade said turning and heading back to the crime scene.

"So how much did I get wrong?" John asked as they followed Lestrade back to the body.

"Nothing."

"Seriously?" John asked surprised.

"Well, you missed everything important but nothing you said was actually wrong. You're improving." Sherlock said feeling a strange sense of pride.

"Thanks." John said sarcastically.

"You know John, I think we should get married." Sherlock said coming to a decision.

"Oh for fuck's sake. This is not the time to discuss this."

"So there is a later time when you'd be open to discussing it." Sherlock concluded.

"Yes. I mean no. I don't know. God, you're bloody impossible, do you know that?" John sighed shaking his head.

"You still love me though, right?" Sherlock asked concerned.

"Yes. I still love you." John said taking his hand and smiling. "Because I'm an idiot."

End

Author's Note:

This is, for the time being, the end of this fic. I have however left it as incomplete in case I decide to come back to it and add an epilogue. I don't have any immediate plans to do this but might be so inclined in the near future.

Because someone asked, Tom the Bartender was not alluding to any Harry Potter characters. However if you choose to believe it is, who am I to stop you?

Thank you to anyone who read and reviewed. It is appreciated.


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